Bed and Breakfast Man
by Ruthless Bunny
Summary: It's Christmas-time and the gang is traveling to Las Vegas. Wedding Bells anyone? Ch-31 What Happens Here, Stays Here.
1. The Foundling

The Bed-and-Breakfast Man Series

Chapter 1  

The Foundling

Daria's first semester at Raft was a combination of exhilaration at her new independence and an acute homesickness for her friends and family.  She was more pleased than she cared to admit when her friend Jane Lane started at Boston Fine Arts College in the winter term.  While Daria had managed to carve out a new life for herself in Boston, she enjoyed hooking up with Jane on the weekends.  Trent occasionally came up to visit his sister and about a month previously, he had landed a gig, with a Mystik Spiral at a brewpub near MIT.  Apparently the boys were working for a few dollars and the apartment over the bar.  

Daria thought about her plans for the upcoming weekend.  There was a new movie at the art cinema, a gigantic cappuccino and pizza, a regular weekend.  If they were ambitious, they might roll into the pub and watch the band perform, or they might just rent a video.  The great thing about Boston was that there was a wealth of things to not do on the weekend.  

The cushiony chair in the library was lulling Daria into a stupor.  It was her customary location.  She found that the combination of the quiet of the periodical room and the luxurious comfort of the chairs were conducive to her studies.  She dipped into a book that had been recommended by her comparative lit professor, but kept getting side-tracked by an aroma.  It was a combination of cloves, hemp and sandalwood.  It was familiar, but she couldn't place it.  She tried to ignore it, but it kept wafting over.  

Daria took her book and tried to look nonchalant as she tried to track down the source of the smell.  It only took a minute before she stumbled across Trent, snoring peacefully under a TESOL Quarterly from 2001.  

"Trent?"  Daria asked in the hushed tones of a habitual library patron.

"Hnuh?"  Trent stirred under the magazine as he oriented himself.  "Daria?"

"Yeah.  What are you doing here?"  Daria sat in the chair next to him.  She knew from experience that it didn't pay to rush him right after he woke up.

"Jane said you'd be here."  He seemed to think this was enough explanation.

"Here in Boston?  Here at Raft?  Here in the library?  Here on the first floor?  Here in the periodical section?"  Daria was amazed that they managed to connect.

"Here."  Trent explained.  "And you are."  He smiled at her.

"It's a small world after all.  Ok, so you came here to see me. That's nice."  Daria waited for the rest of the explanation.

Trent had propped his feet up on a large duffle bag.  Daria hadn't noticed it until the movement attracted her attention.  A bit beyond was his guitar. "Yeah.  Actually, I've got a favor to ask."

"Look Trent, I'm really broke..." Daria began.

"No, this favor won't cost you anything.  I need a place to crash for a few nights."  He looked at her expectantly.

Daria thought for a second.  "Why me?  Why not a family member?  Where's Jane?"  
  


"Well, that's the problem.  I was staying with her..." He trailed off into his familiar ellipsis.  

"And?"  Daria was used to drawing out his sentences, but she was beginning to lose patience.

"Something about eating her art materials.  A project.  Failing.  I'm not really sure."  Trent had the confused look of a Labrador Retriever trying to understand quantum physics.

"I get it.  You pissed her off and she threw you out."  Daria nutshelled it for him.

"I guess so."  Trent shook his head sadly, pitying his sister.

"So where are the other guys?  What happened to that apartment you had over the bar?"  

"The guys are all staying with friends or girlfriends.  They're fumigating the apartment.  Termites or locusts or something.  Can you help me out?"  Trent tried that look he had.  He knew that it had worked in the past on other women.  He hoped that it would work with Daria.

She sighed.  The one good thing about dorm life was that she had a room to herself.  Technically she had a roommate, but Courtney stayed with her boyfriend off campus.  In exchange all Daria had to do was say that Courtney was out or in the shower when her parents called.  Daria liked privacy and she wasn't thrilled with the idea of sharing her space with Trent.  But he did look pathetic.  

"Alright, but you can't bother me when I'm studying.  Or sleeping.  Or writing.  In fact, don't bother me.  It _is_ temporary, right?"  Daria asked pointedly.  She had found in the past that failing to define the parameters of the arrangement was a disaster when dealing with Trent.

"Ok.  I won't bother you.  Thanks Daria."  Trent got up and grabbed his bag.  Daria noticed that it looked rather large. She also noticed that he forgot to assure her that he would be moving back to his apartment in the near future. 

Daria let Trent into the room.  It was small, as most dorm rooms are.  There was a sitting area, with desks, a sofa and a television.  The bedroom featured two twin beds, positioned against opposite walls, with dressers between.  Although there were two distinct living spaces, it was still incredibly cramped.  Daria pointed to the bed on the left side of the room.  "That's where you sleep.  If you snore, then you're in the other room on the sofa.  

Trent put his bag at the foot of the bed.  "So you wanna get a pizza or something?"  

Daria shrugged. "You buying?"

Trent shook his head.  "Nope, broke till payday."  

"Okay, so I guess you're saying that you're hungry.  Tell you what.  I'll go down to dinner and I'll smuggle you something back.  Fair enough?"  Daria took off her coat and hung it up in the closet.  There was a knock at the door.

"Hey Daria, you going to dinner?"  It was Gayle from across the hall.  Gayle had come up from Tennessee.  She had a thick southern accent.  

"Yeah, I've just got to get my house guest settled.  Trent, this is my friend Gayle, Gayle this is Trent.  Jane's brother."  The two women exchanged looks.  

"Oh hey Trent.  I've heard a lot about you."  Gayle gave him a wave.  

"Nice to meet you." Trent said politely.  In the back of his mind he wondered how he came up in conversation with Daria's friend.  

"We'll be back in a bit.  Don't smoke in here, the RA will have my ass.  She's right next door.  I'll bring you whatever they have for dinner that doesn't leak."  Daria left as Trent looked around the rooms.

The sofa was a seventies shade of rusty orange.  It was hard as a rock, except in the places where asses of the past had worn grooves into the cushions.  The television was small and probably not watched all that often.  One desk was decorated with photos of people Trent had never seen before in his life.  He assumed that they were the roommate's.  Daria's desk was loaded with her laptop, her textbooks, assorted notebooks and some anatomical detritus that Trent didn't want to know about.  He decided to resume his nap until Daria returned with dinner.

Trent munched one of the burgers that Daria had smuggled up to the room.  The dining room was all you can eat, as long as you ate it there.  "So Summer and her kids moved back into your house?"  

"Yeah, those kids of hers are a pain in the ass.  They yell and run around.  My Mom just stays in the basement muttering about butterflies.  I decided that maybe it was a sign to get out on my own, see if we can actually do something with the band."

"And when you say move out on your own, you actually mean moving out with the band."  Daria tried to keep him honest.

"Well yeah.  We're on our own."  Trent bit into the second burger.  

"So what exactly is the deal with this apartment?  Do you pay rent?"  Daria was checking her e-mail and chatting with Trent simultaneously.

"We play five nights a week, and we clean up every night after closing.  We each get one hundred dollars a week and the apartment."  He seemed rather proud of himself.

"It's about the only way you'd be able to afford living in Boston.  Is the place nice?" She tapped away at the keyboard.

"It's being fumigated.  How nice could it be?"  He finished off the burger and started in on an apple turnover.  Daria had taken her bulky sweater to dinner.

"Good point."  

At first Daria wondered when Trent was going to move back. He managed to go to work, sleep in the dorm for two weeks before it occurred to Daria that perhaps there was something more to his company than his apartment being fumigated.  They had worked out a routine.  Daria was up and out early in the morning.  She returned to the room just as Trent began waking up. They'd chat for awhile; then he'd take off for work at around nine at night, so she had the place to herself to study and sleep.  After the first couple of nights, Trent's arriving back to the room at six in the morning ceased to bother her.  

There was a note on the door when Daria returned to the room.  It was from Melissa, the RA. Melissa was a busy girl in her own right and aside from floor meetings and crises; she stayed out of everyone's hair.  Daria figured that she was busted so she went next door to take her punishment.

"Oh hey, Daria.  Glad you could come."  Melissa let her in the room.  She had just showered and was drying her incredibly long hair.  She bent over and swung her tresses back and forth.

"Aren't you going to get a head-rush doing that?"  Daria asked.

"Oh no!  It makes my hair full and shiny.  I'll finish it off with a blow dryer before I go out."  

"You going out with your boyfriend?"  Daria asked politely.

Melissa laughed.  "Boyfriend?  I don't have a boyfriend. Except of course for Him."  She pointed at an etching of Jesus.  "He's the only man I need right now."  She glanced adoringly at the picture. 

"Ah ha."  Daria replied.  "I got this note..."

"Right, speaking of boyfriends, what's up with the guy in your room?"  The RA got right to the point, it was one of the things that Daria liked most about her.

"Oh, he's not my boyfriend.  He's just a friend.  His place is being fumigated and he needed someplace to stay."  Daria explained.

"Well, he's been here for a while.  It's not really a problem, but he sometimes gets locked out of the room. He sits out in the TV lounge for hours at a time, some of the other residents mentioned it to me.   I got one of the spare keys, but I didn't want to give it to him without clearing it with you first.  I already checked with Courtney, she said it was okay with her." Melissa held out the key for her.

"Gee, thanks." Daria took the key, but she wasn't sure how she felt about giving it to Trent.  After all, this was supposed to be a temporary arrangement.  Giving him a key would make it official.  

"He really _isn't_ your boyfriend is he?"  Melissa seemed slightly shocked.  "I just assumed that you and Courtney had an understanding.  She's never here, and that guy is always here, I just assumed..."

"I can understand why you'd think that.  Really, he's my best friend's brother.  He got kicked out of his place and now he's here with me.  The weird thing is that I enjoy his company.  He's got a night job, so he doesn't bug me.  He sleeps during the day.  It's sort of like my brother visiting.  Besides he really is supposed to be back at his place any day now."  Daria seemed confused about the situation.

Melissa handed her the key. "I think that you enjoy his company.  Why not give him the key.  When it's time for him to go, he'll go.  Maybe he misses his family too."  

"Thanks."  Daria took the key, but she wasn't exactly sure if she was going to give it to Trent.  That seemed too much like a commitment.  But a commitment to what?


	2. Daria's First Frat Party

Chapter 2

Daria's First Frat Party

Trent hovered around the food court in the Student Union.  He had two dollars to spend and he was deciding between nachos and a baked potato.  Both were filling, but the nachos were more delicious, although the potato was probably better nutritionally.  As he grappled on the horns of this dilemma, two preppie guys walked past him.

"So the house has voted unanimously that if we bring back that last band that we're both going to be voted out of the frat?" said Preppie Number One, standing in line for a burger.  

"It's not OUR fault that they haven't learned a new song since 1996.  But I do see their point.  Nirvana covers aren't the way to get chicks to dance," said Preppie Number Two.  

"Where are we supposed to come up with a band on short notice?"  The line moved slowly, so Trent had time to deliberate his next move.  

"Uh.  I heard you say you needed a band?"  He moved behind the preppies, as though it was a plate of fries he wanted all along.

The two guys looked at him like he were something they needed to scrape off of their shoes. "Yeah, you know a band?"

Trent thought about all of the humiliating gigs they had played in the past.  "I've got a band.  Mystik Spiral.  We happen to have an opening on Friday."  

"Well, we need our band for Saturday."  The first preppie said.

"We also happen to have an opening on Saturday."  

The two frat boys looked at each other.  "Where can we hear you play?"  

Trent told them where the club was. "We go on at about nine.  Or ten.  Whatever."  

Later that evening it was decided that Mystik Spiral would be playing the Sigma Nu "Come get Lei'd" Luau.  They were being paid $500 and as much keg beer as they could drink.  

Twilight made the room purple as Trent picked out a tune on his acoustic.  Ironically it was "Come as You Are."  Daria came in with her pockets filled with contraband dining hall food for Trent's dinner.  

"Hey Daria.  How was your day?"  Trent continued to play, concentrating on his fingering.  

"Not bad.  Got a weekend free of homework, so that's a good thing.  What did you do?"  Daria put away her stuff and hung up her coat.  

"Gotta gig this weekend.  Can you help us out?"  

"I'm not hauling equipment for you guys again.  That one time was enough." She walked across the room to turn on the stereo, hoping that he would get the hint.

He put the guitar away.  "No, nothing like that.  I was hoping that you could make a contract for us.  These guys need us to sign a contract.  Or they need to sign a contract, or something.  Anyway, we can't get paid unless they've got something in writing."  

"Since when are you doing business like a businessman?"  Daria eyed him suspiciously.

"Uh.  It's a frat, it's in one of their bylaws or something.  Oh, can you come to the party?  They wanted to meet our manager."  

"Since when am I your manager?"

"Please?"  He gave her his best soulful, poet look.

"Okay, but I get ten percent."  She was having none of it.

***

The frat was decorated with all kinds of Christmas lights, twinkling in the cold evening air.  They were putting the finishing touches on the decorations for the evening.  There were pineapples, hula girls, pictures of hibiscus and other reminders of island life.  A large garbage bag sat precariously at the door, filled with plastic leis.  

Daria walked in with the paperwork.  "Uh, is Bill around?" she asked the nearest Sigma Nu.

"Which Bill?  Bill H., Bill R., or Bill T.?" he asked, reaching up to activate the perpetual motion hula girl.  

"Did I walk into an AA meeting?  I don't know, the Bill in charge of paying the band."  Daria was testy.  A frat house was the very last place on earth she wanted to be.  

"Oh, Bill Tucker.  I'll get him for you."  

A couple of minutes later a tow headed guy, wearing a Hawaiian shirt emerged from the far side of the house.

"Hi, I'm Bill Tucker, Rush Chairman," he extended his hand, "Damn, glad to meet you."

Daria rolled her eyes.  No one told original jokes anymore.  "Right.  I've got the contract, you've got the check?"

They transacted their business.  Mystik Spiral set up in the living room.  The furniture had recently been cleared into the backyard.  The boys had referred to the sofas and chairs nestling in the grass as "Make-out Island."  

Within an hour the party went from polite setting up to beer fueled brawl.  Daria perched on the staircase, giving her a view of the antics, without getting her actively involved.  "Hey, how come you aren't getting lei'd?" one of the younger Sigma Nus asked.  

"Is that the best you can do?" Daria asked.

"Huh?"  The bewildered guy replied.

"Is that your best pick up line?" she tried not to intimidate him.  He seemed harmless enough.

He shrugged.  "Did it work?"

"It did if you can help me find something to drink."  Daria stood up as he smiled at her.

"We have some great punch!"  He led her into the kitchen.

Daria looked around for a punch bowl, but all she saw were the ravages of chip bags and cans of dip.  "Where?"

Skip or Chip or whatever his name dipped a paper cup into the sink and came up with a purple mixture.

"What is that?"  Daria eyed it as she took a careful sip.  "Oh, grape Kool-Aid."  She downed a glass and refilled it herself.

"Wow.  You really can party. Wanna dance?" he asked.

"No thanks, but I'll be happy to watch you."  Daria smiled at him. She felt benevolent towards him.  He was a nice guy.  A really, really, really nice guy.

"No, I don't want to dance if you don't.  Want to sit on the sofa?"  He steered her outside and onto a well-worn leather sofa.  

They were positioned near the Shot Luge, a 30 lb block of ice, suspended on a wooden structure with a trough chipped into it, down which shots were poured into the mouths of participants.  

"Hey Daria, wanna watch me do a shot?"  Skip jumped up like a puppy.

"Sure!"  Daria leaned back and enjoyed the mild floating feeling she had.

Skip positioned his lips at the bottom of the block of ice.  The guy on the ladder at the top of the block poured the shot down the channel etched into the middle of the ice block.  The red liquid splashed down into Skip's greedy mouth.  "WOO-HOO!" he hooted as the other frat guys shouted with him.  Dogs in neighboring yards started barking.  "Who let the dogs out!!!!!!"  They all yelled. 

Daria realized that she should be bored, but instead she was amused.  It was cute.  Cute.  Why was it that she never found anything cute?  But all of the Sigma Nus were cute.   She was thirsty again.  She had to decide if she was going to do a Luge Shot, or if she wanted to try to get back to the kitchen for more Kool-Aid.  She decided to try a shot.  

The guys gathered around her as she felt the cold, wet sensation of the ice on her lips as she sucked the bottom part of the block.  "Oh," groaned one of the guys, "What does THAT remind you of?"  

Before she could process that remark, the liquid came rushing towards her.  She opened wide and most of it made it into her mouth.  She swallowed the sweet mixture, noticing that it had the faint flavor of cherries. The guys in the backyard hooted and howled.  

Trent wandered out during a break to see what the fuss was about.  He was shocked to see Daria in the middle of woofing frat boys.  She wasn't hurting them either; she seemed to be having fun.  He shook his head.

The band started their last set.  They were fairly well lubricated with cheap beer, and they had seen an eyeful as the girls, starting to get drunk, became less inhibited.  If that were possible.  

Daria came in from the kitchen with a cup full of punch.  She drank it down quickly, as though hoping to slake a powerful thirst.  She licked her lips and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.  Trent could see that she was unsteady, but she propped herself up against a doorjamb and rocked her head to the beat.  Somewhere along the line she had acquired a lei around her neck and a plastic flower in her hair.  

The band swung into a grunge version of "Shout!" the universal, penultimate song of all frat parties.  The kids were twisting and singing along.  "A little bit louder now!  A little bit louder now."  They were near the frenzy point when Daria climbed up on stage and stood with Trent near the microphone.  She leaned in close and started to sing with him, "Heee-aa-eee-y.  Heee-aaa-eee-y.  Shout! Throw your hands up and Shout!"  She knew the words, or she knew enough of them to fake it.  She fell over on the floor just as the crowd and the band finished with the last 'Shout!'  

Mystik Spiral segued into "Closing Time," one of the less obnoxious last call songs.  The girls and boys in the crowd had paired off and started to edge out of the room as the lights came up.  Daria's eyes were closed and she was still clinging to her cup.  Skip and one of his buddies had started to bring the furniture back in, and they picked her up and put her on the sofa while the band packed up.  In about an hour they were ready to go.

Bill shook Trent's hand.  "You guys were great.  Thanks so much for bailing us out.  Don't be surprised if you get some calls for Greek Week."  The band muttered and walked out to the Tank.  Trent went over and hoisted Daria over his shoulder.  Skip and Bill watched as he hauled her out to their waiting ride.

"Wow, that guy is SO going to score tonight." Skip sighed with unconcealed awe.

***

Daria heaved again into the toilet as Trent held back her hair and patted her on the back.  "Oh, God, this is just awful.  What was in that punch...besides Jesus?"  


	3. Quinntessence

Quinntessence

By Ruthless Bunny 

Daria walked in on Trent.  He was asleep in "his" bed.  CDs were scattered around him, as though they were confetti in a giant celebration.  "TRENT!"  she yelled, "You need to get up and clear out.  Quinn's coming."

That was a weird one.  Quinn was flying in for a visit.  Daria had no idea why, but in a far corner of her heart, she was happy about it.  They had been talking on the phone and it seemed that Quinn had an odd understanding about what college life was, or at least college life for Daria.  Hopefully they could strike a happy medium, Quinn would be satisfied with a lobster fest somewhere and Daria would take her to a floor party to appease her sister's "Keg Queen" tendencies.

Trent had promised that he would stay at Jane's over the weekend.  She was still angry with him for eating her rotting bowl of fruit.  That's what had started the fight.  Jane was painting a series.  It featured a fresh bowl of fruit and it's various states of decay.  Trent managed to eat the subject just as it was about to draw flies.  Jane had been furious. 

Trent got up in very slow motion. Drawing every movement out, like a mime.  Daria tapped her foot and waited for him to cram his dirty clothes into the duffel bag.  "Janey's coming here, right?"  He was still steering clear of her.  

"Yes, she'll be here any minute.  I suggest that if you want to avoid an ugly scene that you haul your cookies to her room at BFAC." She began stripping the bed and gathering up some stuff for the laundry.

Trent walked out.  He did not enjoy being around when Daria was cleaning the room.  As predicted Jane arrived just as Daria returned from the laundry room.  "Amiga!"  Jane exclaimed.  "What's up?"

She would have hugged Daria, except that neither of them was particularly touchy-feely.  

Daria showed her in and told her where to store her gear.  In her mind, Daria anticipated that Quinn would show up with a steamer trunk filled with things like pink earmuffs and high-heeled shoes.  

Jane and Daria ordered a pizza and caught up.

"Thanks for taking Trent in.  I honestly was going to have him killed if he stayed with me for one more day."  Jane bit into the slice.  

"No problem.  Not that I think it's up to you or anything, but when do you think he's going to be going back home?  What did they fumigate his apartment with, uranium?"  Daria asked, picking the onions off of her piece.

"What do you mean?  Isn't he home yet?  They didn't fumigate; they were painting.  What the hell is going on?"  Jane asked, perplexed.

Daria put down her pizza.  "Jane, Trent has been here for nearly a month.  It's not a big deal, but I was wondering why he was hanging out here.  I guess that apartment of theirs is a real dump."

Jane shook her head.  "Au contraire, it's actually pretty nice."

"So why do you think that your brother is camping out in a dorm room with me?" 

Jane chewed thoughtfully, "I think that he misses you.  He misses me too.  He likes living with family.  He could have moved out dozens of times, but he never did."

"Isn't the band his family?"  Daria tried to piece it all together.

"Nope.  Jesse is, they go back forever.  Max and Nick though, I think they make him feel inadequate.  That's why he bails out of there."

"He can't live here forever.  We're getting out for spring break soon."  Daria glanced over Jane's shoulder at the calendar.

"Don't worry, by then, he'll have found another sucker.  What are we doing for spring break?"  Jane changed the subject. Daria looked as though she might dwell, and if she gave it too much thought, it might blow Trent's chance at whatever it was he was playing at.

"ARE we doing anything for spring break?"  

"We could go to Daytona."

"Uh. No."  The thought of all of those drunken sorority girls flashing all of those drunken fraternity guys filled Daria with dread. 

"We've got a few weeks, let me think about it."  Jane looked as though she already had a plan but was trying to figure out how to break it to Daria. 

"Okay, but no Peruvian archaeological digs.  I want someplace with hot water and no bugs."  Might as well set out the expectation up front.

"Okey-dokey.  But once we've selected there will be no bitching."  Jane tapped the pizza box for emphasis.

The phone rang, it was the front desk announcing Quinn.  They had her come up and waited for her at the elevator bank.

"DARIA!"  Quinn raced into her sister's surprised arms. "It is so good to see you!"  Quinn hugged hard.

Daria hugged back a little.  "Nice to see you too."

"Ugh!  You have no idea what it's like to be with Jake and Helen alone.  GRR!"  Quinn walked with Daria and Jane into the dorm room.

"A bit on the intense side?"  Jane asked politely.

"I wish it were only intense.  Helen is constantly asking where I'm going, who I'm going with, when I'll be back.  Those freaking public service announcements! I wish she'd realize that it's too late to start with that stuff now."  She threw her one bag on the sofa. "I don't suppose you could scare up a wine cooler; my last nerve is shattered."

Jane reached into her hat-box, "Courtesy of Bartles and Jaymes.  Kiwi Meltdown."  

Daria went downstairs to the ice machine.  When she came back Jane and Quinn were talking.  It wasn't polite conversation; it was real conversation.

"Quinn was just telling me about the people we left behind at Lawndale High."  Did you know that Mr. O'Neill is marrying some girl he met on the Internet?

Daria's eyebrows rose, "Really?  I thought he was dating Ms. Barch."

Quinn leaned over, as though to keep the information confidential, "She's hooked up with Ms. Morris."  

"OH! Who didn't see THAT coming?" Daria put the wine coolers in the footbath she used for an ice bucket.  She cracked one and poured it over ice.

"Kevin tried to come back to school to finish up but when he found that he was ineligible for football he decided to take the GED instead.  He's working for his dad installing dry wall."  Quinn sipped at her cooler.

"Who didn't see THAT coming?"  Jane said glancing at leftover pizza, "Do we need another pie?"

"Do they have salads?" Quinn asked, wrinkling her nose up at the pizza.

"Yes and Yes."  Daria responded, rolling the bottles back and forth in the ice to cool them faster. 

By the time the food arrived the girls were fairly silly.  Daria was doing imitations of Trent around the room.  Jane showed them a series of sketches of Trent sleeping.  Although the situations were different, on a train, in bed, at a club, in each one Trent looked exactly the same.  Quinn was trying to show them how many things could be done with a scrunchie.

"No, seriously, these things are mega-handy." Quinn twisted her hair up catching the ends of it in the elastic and piled it in a bun on her head.  "See?  Look how sophisticated this is for evening."

"Ms. Morgendorffer is wearing a blue velvet evening ensemble, featuring a peplum and a scrunchie."  Jane narrated sarcastically. 

Quinn became serious.  "You know, there's quite a bit of money in these things."

"Right," Daria snorted, "What do they cost, a dollar?  You'd have to sell a lot of scrunchies to make any real money.  By the way what's a peplum?"  

"Actually you'd have to sell about four thousand."  Quinn said, pulling something out of her bag.  "A peplum is a gathered ruffle around the waist of a suit jacket or a blouse."  

"Thanks," said Daria, as Jane drank the last of her cooler and looked for another.

"Look at this."  Quinn handed each of the girls a booklet with a black scrunchie attached.  The booklet was in color and it featured pictures of Quinn in various outfits showing the different hairstyles one could wear using a scrunchie.  The booklet didn't just show hairstyles; it also explained how each hairstyle complimented the outfit.  

Jane inspected it. "This is really good, did you do this on a graphics program?"

Quinn nodded.

"It looks really professional, what class is this for?"  Daria complimented her sister.

"Uh, it's not for a class.  It's my business."  Quinn blushed.  While she was vain about her appearance, she still became embarrassed by her personal accomplishments.

"Your business?  So you've sold these?  How? To whom?"  Daria asked incredulous and grammatically. 

"I have a web page."  She went over to Daria's laptop, which was accessing the Internet on a DSL connection.  A few taps later and they were at www.quinntessential.com .  Quinn smiled at them from the screen.  

Jane surfed the site.  "This is really well done.  Who hosts it?"  

"I started off on a free server, but that was amateurish with pop up ads and stuff so once I made some money, I moved it over to Fried Monkey."  Quinn's tone of voice had changed.  She had started off giggly but had changed over to serious.

"So you're making enough out of this to afford web hosting services?"  Daria asked as she looked at the shopping cart area.

"Sure.  It's pretty easy."  Quinn responded, moving them to the 'dos and don'ts' page.

"Where did you get the idea?" Jane asked, she was always interested in inspiration.

"It's funny actually.  Mom had represented a creditor in some sweatshop's chapter 13 bankruptcy.  After a bunch of back and forth the guy ended up getting paid in scrunchies.  Five thousand of them.   Well, he expected Mom to get his money back for him. The guy was so mad he paid mom back in scrunchies."  She explained.

"Your mom was satisfied with getting paid in scrunchies?"  

"No, she eventually got paid in money, but we still kept the scrunchies."  Quinn continued.  "I was daydreaming in Ms. Bennett's economics class..."

"Oh, I know THAT feeling," Daria interjected. 

"As I was saying, I was in Ms. Bennett's class and she was talking about entrepreneurship and that's when I got the idea.  So I paid a guy to design the site for me, and I got a guy to do the pictures for me, and a guy I dated laid out the booklet for me, and I got a Paypal account, and I was in business."  Quinn shrugged, as though things like that happened everyday.  

"Wow, that's really cool Quinn.  So this is paying pretty well?"  Jane always wanted to know the bottom line.

"Yeah, it is.  I've got a bank account and everything."  Quinn smiled.

"So how much is in this bank account of yours?"  Daria asked.

"About forty-thousand dollars."  

"Holy shit!"  Daria exclaimed.  "How could you turn a cheap assed scrunchie into forty-thousand dollars?!?"

"It's not the steak, it's the sizzle!  It's not the scrunchie, it's the booklet!  I can sell the set for fifteen dollars!  Anyway, I'm a bit conflicted about where I should go from here.  I'm thinking about a cheap commercial.  One of those one-minute deals where I have a service bureau and a fulfillment house take and send out the orders.  I've also contacted the Home Shopping Network."  Quinn went to flip her hair, but she remembered that it was up. In a scrunchie.

"Damn."  Daria was speechless.

"Damn."  Jane agreed.

The Yellow Rose of Texas tune filled the room and Quinn went to her bag and answered a small phone.  "Yes, this is Quinn...uh huh...yes....that sounds good...Okay, I can meet with you next Friday...Yes...I agree, I think this will be great...Thanks!"  She flipped the phone back together.  "Well, that's one part taken care of.  Quintessence will now be a product line on the Home Shopping Network.  I can sell more of these things in thirty minutes than I have in four months.  Wow."  She stood in the middle of the room dazzled by her own success.

"Damn Quinn, that's pretty impressive.  And you've managed to get enough money to pay for college.  That is if you were planning to go to college." Jane added, noticing that Daria's mood had gone from happy to dark and gloomy.

"Oh I'm going to college!  I want to go to a place with a really strong business program!  Sure, I've got a business, but the world is full of people who do one thing and that's it.  Think about the Topsy-Tail."  The girls had blank looks on their faces but Quinn continued.  "I want to do something great! I want to be Joy Mangano!"  Again with the blank faces.  "She's made millions with household products.  Anyway, Raft has one of the best business departments in the country, so I'm going to come to school here." 

Daria dropped her glass on the floor.  "You're coming to school HERE?  There are over one-hundred thousand schools in the country, but you're coming here?"  She shook her head.  "You've got a thriving business and you've been accepted to my school.  Is there anything that you touch that doesn't turn to gold?"  

Quinn began to cry.  "I was hoping that you'd be happy for me!  I finally stopped doing stupid stuff and I worked really hard and I studied and I brought my grades up and I did a big portfolio and it's not fair, why can't I be smart too?"  Her words trailed off into sniffles and sobs.

Daria sighed. "Of course you can be smart too.  I'm sorry.  It just seems to me that everything comes so easily for you.  I work and struggle, and you just get stuff handed to you on a silver platter.  I had to pass rigorous standards to get accepted here and you just sail in."

"That's not fair.  I got really good SAT scores!  My GPA may not include AP classes, but it's respectable and my portfolio showed my business plan.  I mean, clearly, I have something to contribute here.  Besides, sure you're smart, but you don't work at it anymore than I work at what I do."  Quinn wiped her eyes.

"Yeah, Daria, we know that you write and everything, but it's not like you slave away at it.  You're one of those people that just knows stuff."  Jane added, she related to Quinn's dilemma, after all, Jane got into college in spite of her grades and test scores, not because of them.  

"Hey.  I work hard for my grades."  Daria's defenses were up.

"We ALL work hard, but let's face it, we follow our talents and our inclinations."  Jane drank the last of her cooler.

"That may be, but you guys get recognized for your talents.  Jane's paintings are praised.  Quinn gets asked out on dates, what do I get?  Solicitations to join the anti-social geeks at MENSA."  Daria did her version of a pout.

"Stop wallowing in self-pity.  Let's just say that each of us, in our way, is a talented and gifted young woman."  Quinn utilized her peace making abilities.

"And we're all damn fine looking too."  Jane added. 

"Let's do makeovers!"  Quinn jumped up and rooted through her bag for her makeup case.  "Come on Daria, I've been dying to do this for years.  You owe me."

"How do I owe you?"  Daria inched away from her sister, trying to get away from the inevitable.

"For putting me down.  You made me cry."  

"Oh alright, but only if Jane does it too."  Jane was already shaking her head.

"Great!  And after we're finished, we'll go to that party I saw on that flyer."  Quinn had started to shake the bottle of foundation.

Trent, in his confusion, returned to Daria's room, instead of Jane's room at BFAC.  He saw the three girls passed out in the sitting area.  Daria had deep red lips and her hair was curled and piled up on her head with some kind of black band, her mascara had smudged leaving her under eyes reminiscent of Alice Cooper.  Jane was wearing a slip dress and platform shoes.  Instead of her usual lipstick, she had smeared purple gloss on her cheek.  Quinn had managed to make it to the sofa, where she snored quietly, her evening makeup still perfect.  A phone number was clutched in her hand.  

"I've got to get out more."  He commented and walked back into the hallway.


	4. Rocking on Heaven's Door

Rocking on Heaven's Door

By Ruthless Bunny

Trent and the guys were putting the equipment up for the night.  With the regular bar gig, they didn't need to break it all down and pack it up, but they still took the instruments to bed with them.  

"Uh, hey guys, that was a good set," a mild looking guy said to them as they pulled the tarp over the drum kit.  

"Thanks," grunted Jesse as he meticulously tucked in the edges.

"Who's the head guy here? I've got a proposition for you."  He scanned the guys on stage; none of them appeared to be a 'leader' but there was always the business-dude in a band.

"Trent usually handles that stuff for us."  Max tugged the tarp over the bass drum.

Trent, upon hearing his name, stopped wrapping cord and stepped to the edge of the stage. "Hey Man, I'm Trent.  What can I do for you?"

"I'm David Larsen, I'm putting on a festival at the end of the month and I thought you might like to be one of the bands."

"A festival?"  Trent asked, continuing to wrap.

"It's called The Rock Festival.  We've got bands from all over the United States.  Last year we had fifteen thousand people.  It's a good opportunity for exposure."  He rubbed the back of his neck.

"Wow, that's a lot of people," Trent paused, "Does 'good exposure' mean that we don't get paid?"  

"Actually, it means that you get paid $500.00, it's not much, but like I said, it's a decent crowd."  David seemed to be selling them.  The sad truth was that Mystik Spiral would play the opening of a car wash if the price was right.

"Sounds good, what's the date?"  Trent wrote the information on his hand, and then proceeded to seal the deal by shaking on it.  It only smeared a bit.  

***

Daria walked past Melissa's door on the way to her room.  This was the place where floor meetings were announced.  It was also Melissa's personal bulletin board, usually consisting of lecture announcements and campus Maranatha events.  There was a flyer that caught Daria's eye:

The Rock Fest

Twelve hours of Peace and Music

Featured Bands:

Elegant Triad

Crystal Clear

Ultimate Word

Lightning

Stirred

King's House

Despised

Children of Captivity

Bound With Chains

12:31

Bloody Wine Press

Mystik Spiral

Daria didn't usually scrutinize the crap on her RA's door, but she couldn't help but notice that Mystik Spiral was on the bill with what were clearly Christian Rock bands.  Melissa came out as Daria was trying to comprehend the situation.

"Hey Daria, checking out the festival flyer?"  Melissa asked as she began her hair drying ritual.

"Yeah, what's the deal with this?"  Daria tried to look her in the eye, but Melissa was upside down swinging her hair back and forth.

"Oh, it's great, a whole day of rock and roll with a message.  Were you interested in going?  I honestly didn't think it would be your bag."  Melissa was nearly to the point where she would begin the blow drying process. 

"Well, it isn't usually my thing, but my friend's band is performing and frankly I'm a bit shocked," Daria admitted. 

"Aren't they a Christian Rock band?"  Melissa flipped up and her long hair flowed down her back.

"Well not as of last week, but you never know with these guys."  

"Well, we're getting a group together to go down, we've got a bus and everything, if you want you can come with us, it's only $15.00 per ticket."  

Daria thought for a moment. "Make it two."

***

The guys were unloading the Tank and getting a feel for the layout of the festival.  It was still fairly early in the morning.  The band hadn't finished until very late that night so they decided just to stay up rather than catch a few Zs before coming out.  

David, wearing a T-Shirt and a backstage pass came over to them.  "Guys, I'm glad you're here.  You can set up at the Noah stage.  We've got 12:31 going on first at the Genesis stage."

"So we're alternating stages?"  Trent tried to sound like he knew about logistics.

"Right, that way we don't have long silences, we get more bands on and the crowd stays happy.  So you guys are on first, right at twelve.  If you set up fast, come to the hospitality tent, we've got donuts and coffee." He waved as he went over to consult with one of the promoters.

"I wonder who this dude Noah is?"  Trent mused as he shouldered his amp.

Nick rolled his eyes.  "Guys, don't you get it?"

The band stopped their activity to look at him.  "Get what?" Jesse asked.

"You've never heard of these bands have you?  None of these phrases rings a bell?  Noah, Genesis?   Come on...do you need to phone a friend?"  Nick's usual sarcasm was particularly biting.  In response he got three guys doing an impression of trout.  "We're at a Christian Rock festival!  Trent, you've booked us into a revival!"

"No way!"  Trent shook his head.  "Look around, these guys look like us."  It was hard to deny.  The other band members milling around were fairly indistinguishable from any other alterna-grunge band.  They had avant guard haircuts, tattoos and some even had piercings.

Nick sighed, "Trent, just because these guys are Christian, it doesn't mean that they all look and act like Pat Boone."

"Who?"  Trent was still checking everyone out, trying to see if they 'looked' Christian.

"Never mind.  Trust me, I've heard some of these guys--they are Christian."  Nick continued to tape down cords and cables.

"So what should we do?"  Jesse asked as he taped a line of picks on his mike stand.

"Substitute Jesus for Baby in the lyrics?" Max offered helpfully.

Nick felt like Moe.  "No, just do what we always do.  This crowd can apply their own interpretations. The guy booked us as is, just do the set and watch your language.  A gig's a gig."

"I guess that means a beer tent is out," Trent observed bitterly.

***

Daria and Jane sat in the back of the bus.  It gave them a clear view of the other participants in The Rock Fest.  Most of them were wearing various Jesus oriented apparel.  Daria's favorite was the burly dude with "The Lord's Gym" T-shirt, it pictured a buffed up Christ carrying a cross.  

"Daria, it's pretty early in the morning, you said we were going to a Rock Festival, not a church picnic, what is going on?"  Jane was testy, she didn't get her second cup of coffee this morning.

"We are, and get this, Mystik Spiral is playing," Daria stared earnestly at her friend.

"You lie!" 

"Jane, I'm telling you, Mystik Spiral is playing at The Rock Fest.  They also do frat parties.  I guarantee you that at some point money has changed hands here."

"Are you saying that the band is doing this for the money?  That can't be right," Jane wondered who would actually pay to hear Mystik Spiral.

"I don't know why, but I'll tell you this, they are getting to the point where they are making as much with gigs as they could with a real job.  I wouldn't put it past them to do it for the money."

"But how did they manage to con whoever is promoting this thing into believing that they are a Christian Rock band?"

"It does seem a bit too Machiavellian for Trent.  I don't know, but I do know this, it should be priceless to see how they pull it off," Daria grinned an evil grin.

"Morgendorffer you scare me.  I guess this means we can rule out the possibility of a beer tent."  Jane settled back in her seat for the remainder of the ride.

***

The day had turned out to be sunny and cool, perfect festival weather.  Trent had to admit that the crowd seemed to be into good music.  The first band sounded great with a hard driving guitar sound.  Trent grabbed the mike, "Hey we're Mystik Spiral..." The crowd greeted them with whoops and cheers, almost as though someone might have heard of them, "We're thinking of changing our name to...Mystik Jesus."  Trent could see Nick smack himself in the forehead.  "Uh, right.  Icebox Woman, one, two, three, four!"  And they swung into a jamming 45-minute set.  

The crowd seemed to enjoy the angst-shopping mall sounds of Mystik Spiral.  Jesse looked at Trent and at one point suggested that they do "Rawhide," Trent waved off the suggestion and they warped into Mr. Normal, which the crowd loved.  People danced and pumped their fists into the air.  Even the guys at The Promisekeepers Booth seemed to be getting down to the sounds of Spiral.  They ended their set with "Every Dog Has His Day" and everyone howled along at the end.

When they came off the stage girls were there trying to get their attention.  Instead of the usual lewd suggestions, they offered to read scripture with them, but it was essentially the same come-on.  

Trent shook his head in amazement. "Wow, I never thought we could rock out like that.  It's great playing to such a big crowd.  The biggest crowd we ever played was that strike at the high school."  

Jesse was wiping down his face.  "Now I know what it's like to be a real rock and roll star."

The band was verbally slapping each other on the back, elated with having performed to such an appreciative audience, when a slick looking man in a leather jacket approached them.  "Hi, loved your set."  He handed each of them a card, 'Michael Stewart, New Talent Development, Redemption Records.'  "I'd love to talk to you guys about signing with us, the crowd loved you.  Are you with anyone now?"

Trent started to say something, but Nick stepped in, "No, but we're looking at a couple of different offers."

"That's smart, always weigh your options.  We're small, but we really nurture our artists.  We represent seven bands here today.  Most of them are making money, not very many bands can say that, signed or not."

"That's true.  Maybe we can get our manager and meet with you sometime?"  Nick assumed the leadership role.  He let Trent deal with idiot club owners as a rule, but this was big, this was a contract, he couldn't let that get messed up.

"You've got my number, call me next week."  Michael shook all of their hands and went to the hospitality tent.

Trent stared at the card.  "A record company wants to sign us?"

"A record company, a CHRISTIAN record company has express interest.  Do you guys really want to pursue that market?"  Nick looked at the band. "Don't you see what this means?  We're good enough to be taken seriously.  Sure it's not exactly where we want to be, but it's worth looking into."

Max threw down his sticks.  "I don't know.  Sure we did this because our backs were against the wall, but I don't want Mystik Spiral to be some weird niche band.  Christian Rock is fine for those who like it, but it's not really what Spiral is about is it?  I mean, what Christian band has ever made it big?"

"Oh, I don't know, just small time bands like Creed and U2.  I guess we might just have to settle for chump change like those guys." 

Trent saw what was coming. "We need to calm down.  We had a great set.  The crowd is amazing and we might have a chance to be represented by a label.  Maybe this guy knows another label that would be right for us.  It wouldn't hurt to check it out.  We'll get Daria to go to the meeting."

"Did I hear my name?" Daria wandered back, she and Jane had said that they were with the band, the guard was waiting for the guys to confirm that they were.  Trent gave him the high sign and the guard went back to scanning the crowd.

"Yeah, but we'll talk about it later...What are you doing here?"  Trent looked at the two girls.

"We could ask you the same question, bro.   Have you guys changed your format?"  Jane started to help carry the lighter pieces of equipment back to the van.  

"No, it's a long story. But...we got paid."  

Trent was oblivious to Daria's meaningful look.


	5. No Quarter

No Quarter 

By Ruthless Bunny

Daria looked up from her desk.  Trent was strumming his guitar and writing something in his notebook; it was irritating the hell out of her.  The same chords and some muttering under his breath, _peanut butter, utter, Coast Guard cutter, hurricane shutter_...  Normally this stuff rolled off of her back, but tonight it was causing her to go distracted.

"Trent.  What are you trying to rhyme?"  

"Uh, I've got 'kissed me like peanut butter'." He saw the puzzled look on her face.  "You know, all warm and sweet and sticky."

"Right," she grabbed at anything, "How about 'brought confusion and clutter?"

He paused and wrote it down. "Thanks."  He softly continued along, clearly brought out of his block. 

Daria went back to her paper.  It was the longest paper she had written to date in college.  Her lit professor wanted the entire work of a Victorian poet analyzed.  Daria choose Matthew Arnold, but she was becoming frustrated with the depth of the piece.  Her usual method was to spend a few hours compiling information, reading the work, and melding it all together in a paper.  She typically knocked these things out in a day or so.  This one was giving her more grief than she felt that it had a right to.  Her ability to concentrate had gone completely out the window and every little noise was beginning to vex her.

The door to the room opened.  Since the occupants of the room were in it, they were startled.  "Oh Daria!  I'm sorry, but Ian is just being the biggest butt and I had to get out of there and this is my room too and I know that you've got Trent here but..." she stopped in the middle of her explanation, presumably to breathe, but then she dissolved into tears.  Daria continued to look at her in amazement.  Trent got up and hugged her.  In her state Courtney didn't seem to mind a relative stranger offering her comfort.

"Courtney, of course this is your room.  Trent's going to leave in a bit to go to work anyway.  I'm just writing this paper..." Courtney continued to sniffle and sob.  Daria was always out of her element in heavy, emotional scenes.  "I'll tell you what.  I've got this paper due and I should probably get to the library, so I'll just collect my stuff and head on out there.  You can have the place to yourself for awhile."  She packed up quickly, not even bothering to power down her laptop and she hauled out of there.

She left Trent to counsel Courtney on her errant boyfriend. 

Daria showed her ID to the guard behind the desk and proceeded to her favorite location in the periodicals section.  She found a table near an outlet and spread out her notes.  There were quiet groups of students, presumably working together on projects.  The library was open until midnight, Daria figured that by then she'd have the paper fleshed out and workable.  

She began to sort her notes and organize her index cards when a waif of a girl approached her.  

"Hi, I couldn't help noticing that you really seem to have your stuff coordinated here.  I'm really hopeless at that.  What are you working on?"  The girl seemed normal enough, but Daria was unaccustomed to being accosted in public places.

"Well, it's a really important paper.  It's due next week.  I'm really far behind on it."  Daria hoped that the girl would pick up on the hint, but she just stood there, leafing through the papers.

"Wow, I'll bet you're getting really good grades too, huh?  I'm on academic probation.  I took out these huge loans to come here and now I'm flunking out."  She leaned in confidentially, "I stopped going to class; I figure why bother."  There was a note of despair in her voice.

"I can see why you might think that, but maybe if you spoke to your professors you could work something out with them.  Get tutoring or something."  Daria hoped to get this chick to move on.

"You're really nice.  Do _you_ tutor people?"  The big blue eyes batted their lashes.  

"No.  It's as much as I can do to get by on my own here.  What with all this work I have to do..." Hint, hint.  

"Oh."  The girl seemed genuinely disappointed.  "I just don't know what I'm going to do!"  She was working herself into a hysterical cry.

"I guess you could throw yourself on the mercy of the court," Daria offered. 

"Do you think I'll have to go to _COURT_?" The tears sat in their ducts waiting to fall down the delicate pink cheeks.

"No.  It's a figure of speech.  I don't really know you..."

"I'm Cynthia Moon."  She brightened up and extended her hand.

"Daria," she shook the limp appendage,  "Look, I'm not really qualified to help you out.  Have you spoken with your advisor?  They have training and they can really help a lot more than someone you've just met."  

"Oooh, that's a good idea.  Will you come with me?"  

"Uh, you know what, I've really got to get to work on this. I'm really far behind and I came here to study."  Daria had to be firm; this girl just didn't get it.

"I understand. I'm just a big baby.  My roommate is tired of hearing it, and all my friends are at home.  I'll just let you get back to your studying.  I'll just sit here, if you don't mind."  She took a seat at the table, and started to look through one of Daria's books, flipping through it as though looking for pictures.  

Daria looked at her watch.  "Would you look at the time? I had no idea it was so late.  I've got to meet someone...somewhere.  I've got to go.  It was really nice meeting you though."  She packed everything back up, with Gladys trying to help her and in doing so getting her notes out of order.  

"Can we get coffee some time?"  She called hopefully as Daria made her escape.

It was a cold night so working at a bench under a street lamp was not an option.  She got out her phone and called Jane.

"Hey Jane, can you do me a favor?"  

"Sure amiga, what is it?"

"I need a quiet place to study.  My roommate came back and she's having a boyfriend crisis. Can I stay with you and write my paper?"

"Oh, bad timing.  It normally wouldn't be a problem, but tonight we're experimenting with making napalm."  There was noise and confusion in the background at Jane's dorm.

"Did you say napalm?"

"Daria, it's the coolest thing.  You can make napalm out of Jello and gasoline.  One of the guys got a recipe off of the Internet.  We're going to fill watermelons with it and drop them from the roof into the quad."  

"I don't even know where to begin to caution you.  Shall I wait for you at the emergency room?"  

"No, we're taking precautions," Jane said as a small explosion was heard in the background. "Good thing we've got asbestos sheets.  And fire extinguishers."

"I'll leave you to that.  Be careful you don't get arrested.  Or expelled."

"Arrested maybe, but this stuff doesn't get you expelled from Art School, it gets you scholarships.  Oh, gotta go, it's my turn to throw one."  

With that the phone went dead.  Daria weighed her options.  The school was about two square miles and bounded by city streets lined with businesses associated with a university.  There was a complex full of bars and restaurants, not really the optimal place for working. There was a coffee shop a few blocks away and it was open late.  She didn't know how quiet it was, but she figured that she could find out for the price of a cup of Joe.   

It was busy for a weeknight, but it was quiet and it seemed that the customers were keeping to themselves.  Daria waited for a booth to open up, a small one, she didn't want to hog one that could seat a large party.  Again, Daria unloaded her things and began to get into her research.  

"What can I getcha?"  

"Cup of coffee and a piece of peach pie."  Daria hoped it would be enough to buy her an hour or so at the table.

The waitress returned with her order.  Daria added milk and sugar to her cup and absently sipped at it while she read.  Out of the corner of her eye, she could see things happening around her.  Some cops came in for awhile, mostly to get out of the cold.  A homeless guy came in with a cup he had fished out of the trash, presumably to get a refill.  The waitress had pity on him and let him get away with it.  A guy and a girl were having a quiet talk in the booth behind her, and the snippets of their conversation floated over their imaginary partition.

"_Finish school.  Too young.  Care about you_." 

Before she knew it, Daria was eavesdropping on their discussion.  She didn't want to, but it was so compelling.  She realized that she had sat for twenty minutes and hadn't so much as glanced at her notes.  The fluorescent lights hummed and their flickering was beginning to give her a headache.  She left the waitress a five-dollar bill and again she was on the street looking for refuge.

Once, when she had first come to the campus, she had been persuaded by some of the other girls on her floor to go on an adventure across campus.  The girls had stopped at some of the other dorms, looking for guys and they had ended up at a Howard Johnson's.  Daria's mind worked on that for a minute.  Howard Johnson's. Clams. Pancakes. Hotel Rooms.  Perfect.

She knew that it was in there.  The credit card that Helen had given her before she left home.  There was a speech that went along with it.  "Use it only for emergencies. I know I can trust you Daria."  Her arms were tired, her head was aching and she still had at least three hours of research to complete.  If this wasn't an emergency, then what would be?  

It only took her about twenty minutes to cross campus.  The cold motivated her to keep moving.  The desk clerk took the card, ran it through and within five minutes Daria was in a king deluxe with a view of the tennis courts.  It was great.  She cleared off the desk, plugged in and prepared for a good study session.  At $54.00 for the night, it was a bargain.  

At first it was easy.  It was quiet and she was motivated.  But there was something about the room that made her attention wander.  The tub.  She only had a shower in the dorm; it had been months since she'd had a proper bath.  As soon as she started to read a poem, the thought of reading the same poem in a hot bath overtook her.  It won.  She drew a bath and got in to soak.  It was heaven.  The hot water covered her, and the poems seduced her.  She was as happy as she had been in months.  No responsibilities.  No papers due.  No finals.  Just a steamy bath and steamy poetry.  

Naturally this could not last.  There was thumping in the hallway, as though a tour bus had just arrived.  Giggles and laughter could be heard up and down the hall.  Faint singing wafted though the walls.  Daria was shaken from her reverie.  She dried off and donned the complementary bathrobe so that she could check in the hall.  It was filled with young people.  They appeared to be with a touring show.  One kid confirmed it with his "Up With People" T-shirt.  

She called down to the desk clerk when they all started to sing 'We Are The World.'  "Uh, there appears to be a problem here."

"What can I do to help?"

"Well, there are a bunch of really noisy kids up here, and I can't get my work done with all of this racket." Daria always complained, but she had never done it in an official capacity before. 

"Gosh, I understand completely.  They stay with us every year and we pretty much have to clear a whole floor for them.  You got the last vacant room.  I suppose I should have told you but I thought that since you were young too, that it might not be a problem.  If you want, I'll refund your money and you can try someplace else."  He seemed apologetic.

Daria sighed, "I'll be down in a moment."

On the street again, it was nearly two in the morning.  She didn't want to go home, and she wasn't particularly sleepy, she just needed a place where she could hang out and finish her work.  Nearly everything was darkened and closed for the night.  Down the street Daria could see a neon light blinking.  She walked towards it 

The sign featured a ball rolling down the length of the building and a bunch of pins jumping up from the end of the lane.  LUCKY STRIKE LANES.  Candlepin Bowling for over fifty years.  

Daria shrugged and walked in.  How many people would be out this late on a weeknight bowling?  She was not prepared for the crowd in the place.  There was the snack bar, as she expected and no one seemed to mind when she sat down and pulled out her gear.  A glance in the way of the alleys revealed a different type of game, with small balls and weird cylindrical pins.  For a few minutes she looked on at the game, which was played differently than the bowling she was familiar with. The regulars seemed to be having fun.  It was loud, but it wasn't distracting.  Daria happily ordered a coke and settled down to finish her work. 

***

Trent and Daria arrived back at the room simultaneously at about six the next day.  

"So what happened last night?" Daria asked as they came into their empty room.

"Oh, after about two hours of drama, Ian came over and they left together. Then I went to work.  Where'd you go?"

"Oh, I needed some peace and quiet to study, so I went to a bowling alley."  She dropped her bag at the door.

"That makes sense.  Want to get some breakfast before going to sleep?"  

"You buying?"

"Actually, yes."

"You're on.  A waffle awaits me."

"You know Daria, this will be like our first date," Trent said holding the door open. 

"Well then, I want two waffles."  


	6. Sticking to It

**Sticking to It**

**Ruthless Bunny **

Daria tapped her pen impatiently against the library table.  The afternoon had worn away and she was almost through with the weeklong tutoring workshop.  Money had been tight lately.  Daria had answered an ad in the work-study office for tutors.  It seemed like a good job.  Set your own hours, no one specifically to answer to, ten bucks an hour.  It was perfect.  Daria figured that if she could work just fifteen hours a week, she could afford pizza on a regular basis.  But first she needed to finish the workshop.  

The only thing standing between Daria and the door was the last Q and A session.  People were asking questions, not in a search for information, but in the desire to demonstrate their superior knowledge of the subject that they had been studying. 

Finally, they received their certificates and were told that they could check in at the tutoring office on Monday for their first assignments.  Daria knew who her student would be.  It wasn't a big secret.  The tutoring office existed for the benefit of the athletic department.  That wasn't entirely fair or true. It was eighty percent for athletes and twenty percent for people struggling with Statistics.  

When Daria got back to her room, she could hear Judge Judy on the television.  "Oh June!  I'm home!"  She called out.  A nod to "Leave it to Beaver" seemed appropriate somehow.

Without missing a beat, Trent called back, "In here Ward!"

Daria went into the bedroom and as she suspected, Trent was sprawled out on his bed, tangled up in CDs, a headset, three socks and his jacket.  "Big day?"

Trent coughed, he had been feeling under the weather and had treated himself to a day in bed. "No, but you should have seen the 'Showcase Showdown' today.  The big prize was a van."  His eyes attained a dreamy quality.  The band really needed some new, reliable wheels.

"Uh, okay.  Well, I got my certificate, I start on Monday."  Daria showed him the paper she received at her class.

"Wow, so what subject are you going to tutor?"  He sat up and reached for a can of soda on the nightstand.

"According to my tests I can do English, Algebra and Biology."  She smiled.  The more subjects you qualified for, the more work you could get.

"Wow.  I know that you're smart, but it never occurred to me that you could...you know...do all that...stuff."  He took a swig of his soda, contemplating the vastness of her intelligence.

Daria blushed, "Yeah, well, you know...so, what do you feel like eating tonight?"  She changed the subject.

Trent thought for a moment. "I'm not really hungry, but a bowl of won-ton soup sounds good.  How about I order some from Uncle Chung's?"

"On you?"

"Yeah, I'm not all that broke anymore."  He opened his wallet to take out a twenty and Daria could see that it had some company in there. 

"Okay.  Get me some General Tso's Chicken."  She went to her desk to store her stuff while Trent called.  

Daria pretended to read a textbook, but in actuality she was thinking about what it was exactly that she and Trent had.  Was he her brother-figure?  Was he something else?  It had been months since she broke up with Tom and her heart hung out the "Closed" sign.  The idea of getting involved again didn't appeal to her.  She had school, she had a new job, she had enough on her plate.  But what if?  She couldn't deny that Trent was in her life for a reason.  The fiction of his apartment being fumigated, or painted, or condemned was long past being realistic.  Trent was her roommate; did he want to be something else?  And what did she want?  She knew he could go home, but she hadn't asked him to yet.  Why?

Looking through the open door into the bedroom, she could see him clicking the button on the remote, flipping through the stations.  It was almost it's own show.  The Channel Surfing Show.  There was a narrative mutter that accompanied the flickering stutter.  "No way.  Hmm, are those real?  I thought he was dead.  I've seen this one."  There was some music and it appeared that Trent had decided on "Wheel of Fortune."  She listened to the dinging, the clacking of the wheel and the chirping of the contestants.  There was something soothing in the way that it was just an alphabet game.  Trent played along, "T!  Ask for a T!"  The sound effects continued and Trent became more frustrated.  "Buy a vowel you greedy bitch!"  

"What?"  She got up and appeared in the doorway.

"This idiot has $15,000 and no clue what the puzzle is, but she won't buy a vowel.  No common sense."  He tossed the remote on the bed in disgust. "What is wrong with people?"

"Now you understand my world."  Daria sat on her bed to watch the show with him.  She peered at the puzzle, but still had no idea.  

"Shiny Chrome Wheel of Fortune."  Trent solved the puzzle.

"What?"  She looked at him. "Oh, you're right.  How did you _get _that?"  

He shrugged, "I don't know.  They just come to me."

"Maybe you should try to get on the show.  You could win some money."  

"Yeah.  Some day.  Maybe they'll bring the Wheel-Mobile to town."

"Hey, that might be worth our while, go on a bunch of game shows.  Win money and fabulous prizes."  

"Even if we don't win, we'll get lovely parting gifts."

They both laughed and Daria thought, '_we understand each other.  We're different, but we have a shared history.'_

The phone rang, so Daria took the money and went downstairs to get their dinner.  She left him sitting in bed, guessing puzzles.  He hadn't missed one yet.  

***

Monday afternoon Daria found herself at the Tutoring office.  Blair, the coordinator met her at the counter.  "Daria, great!  I've got your first assignment.  You're going to love this guy.  He's on the hockey team.  He's really, really cute!  And he plays on _your _team."  

Daria rolled her eyes.  "Blair.  Please.  Who _don't_ you think is cute?"

"I didn't think that guy at happy hour was cute."  

"What guy?  That huge bald guy with the gut?  Really?  I thought he was your type.  He was wearing a vest."  She gave him a friendly shove.

"Shut up.  But seriously, this guy has credentials.  Athlete, and I'm sure he played Curly in his high school's production of Oklahoma!"  

"Right, and giggled his way through it too."  She held out her hand for the card, "hand it over, the sooner I call him the sooner I'm on my way to earning big bucks in my spare time."  He handed her the card and waited for her reaction. "Michael O'Rourke.  Let me guess.  Local talent?"  

"Duh!" He shook his head in disbelief, "He's the _star_ of the team."

"There's a star of the hockey team?"

"That's right, you aren't from around here.  Yes.  There is a star of the hockey team, and at this school it's Michael."

"So what does he need help with?"  

"This is why you got the job, he's a triple threat.  Biology, algebra and English."

"And how did he get into this fine institution of higher learning?"

"Don't be like that.  Hockey."  

"If you say so.  At least it's job security."

"Only if he passes."

"But no pressure, right?"

"Nope."  He shooed her out of the office and into the world of work.   

***

Michael O'Rourke stood up when Daria entered the private conference room in the library.  He towered over her at nearly 6'2".  "Hey, you must be Daria," he extended his hand.  "I'm Mike." 

"Pleased to meet you."  She was taken aback for a minute.  Not only was the guy tall, he had a presence, a charisma.  She smiled at him involuntarily as she sat down and arranged her materials.  "So, let's get started."  I'm going to give you a test so that we can evaluate which methods will help you learn the best way possible."

"Methods?  What do you mean?"  

"Well, people are intelligent in different ways.  This evaluation will help us pin point your strength and that way we can use that to help you with the subjects you're having problems with."  They spent two hours with the evaluation.  To no one's surprise Mike learned primarily through kinesthetic movement with a strong emphasis in spatial relationships.  

"Wow, I didn't know that there were ways that I could learn by doing stuff I'm already good at."  He smiled.  "I just figured that things were hard for me because I was a dumb jock."

Daria felt sorry for him. "That's just it.  Your talent at hockey tells us that you are good at movement and figuring out where things are in a given space.  Now all we have to do is help you incorporate these things into your schoolwork and you can begin to improve your grades."  

He sighed with relief.  "My parents were so stoked about me getting in here, I'd hate to flunk out.  Hockey is important, but this is Raft, they have standards."

"You must have had good grades and decent test scores to get in."

"Not as good as yours I'll bet."  

She was silent for a moment, "My intelligences are linguistic and logical-mathematical.  These are the intelligences that help a person exist in an academic environment."

"That's why you're tutoring me instead of the other way around."  He smiled, but there was some frustration there too.

"Would it make you feel better to try to teach me how to play hockey?"  The words were out of her mouth before she realized what she had said.  There was something to it though.  How would it feel to be out of her element, trying to master something completely foreign?

"Are you serious?"  Mike's eyebrows rose into his hairline.

"Sure." But she wasn't.  

"When can you come?  We practice at six every morning."  His eagerness was charming.  He wanted her to see what his world was like.

"There's a six in the morning?"  

"Tomorrow then, what shoe size do you wear?"  He peered at her feet under the table.

"Five and a half."   She thought this might make it hard; it was a small size.

He thought for a minute, "I'll get my little brother's skates!  He's in pee-wee, but he grows like a weed.  I'll get my Dad to drive them over tonight!"

"Woah.  Hold up.  You don't have to do that."  

"Naw, they're coming anyway.  Taking me for pizza.  Hey, wanna come?"  He had morphed from a big, hulking jock, into a friendly puppy.

"I wish I could, but I have plans."  Daria reached for a book, a signal for them to get down to work.

"Oh, boyfriend, huh?"  He seemed mildly disappointed.

"Uh, well, uh, no."  She didn't know what he was really asking and it unnerved her.

"Okay, another time. But I am getting those skates, and you are meeting us at the rink tomorrow."

Daria gave up, "Fine, tomorrow morning, now can we get to organizing your study schedule?"

He smiled and folded his hands on the table in front of him, "yes, m'am." 

***

It was inky black as Daria walked across campus towards the rink.  She dressed in her warmest clothes anticipating the cold of the rink.

There were some cars parked by the south end of the building and she could see people milling around, getting gear out and talking as the sun struggled to move up in the sky.  Daria didn't want to approach the team, not if Mike weren't there to explain her presence.  She couldn't see him exactly, so she hung back a bit, hoping that he would arrive soon.

"Hey Daria, you're right on time.  That's one of the most important things in a team sport, respecting your teammate's time."  He clamped his arm around her shoulder and led her into the arena.  

There were three bags sitting on a soggy bit of spongy plastic.  Hockey sticks of all description were propped against the railing in anticipation of a heated game.  Mike took his gear to the locker room, pausing for a minute to take some stuff out for Daria.  "Here are your skates, some pads and gloves.  You can just put the gear over your clothes.  You're so little it ought to fit fine that way.  I did get you a sweater though."  He threw a Raft sweater at her.  It was one of his.  

The coaches came over to her while the guys changed.  "So you're Mike's tutor," he extended his hand, "I'm Coach Bronstein."  

She shook earnestly, "I'm Daria."

"You need help with those?"  He indicated her Bauer's.

"Yeah, they seem a bit tight."

"No, they're perfect.  They need to be snug if you want to control your movement on the ice."  He laced them up for her, grabbing a metal object that was designed to grab the crossed laces and pull them tight enough for the stitching to make an imprint on her foot.

"I think you've just started a trend in foot binding."  She blinked hard, her feet were used to plenty of room in her boots, they were throbbing in the skates.  He put a helmet on her head, which narrowed her vision and muffled her hearing.  

"Come on, lets get you on the ice."  He took her hand as she hobbled on the springy surface towards the ice.  "Have you ever done this before?"

"No."  She clung to the railing as she tried to gain her balance.  She could see Mike come loping out of the locker room.

"Hey!  I'm helping her!  I'm going to be the coach."  He screamed as Coach Bronstein guided Daria out onto the ice.

"Calm down.  You've got warm ups.  I'll get her started, you just do some laps.  Daria, you're a natural at this.  Let me show you the T-start."  With that the coach had started to teach Daria how to skate.

By the end of practice Daria had learned not only the T-start, but also the snowplow stop and some basic skating.  She felt confident enough to skate around the rink.  She was making her way around when Mike stopped her.

"So, what do you think?"  He asked expectantly.

"I can't feel my toes, my glasses are fogged up and I've got a snot bubble coming out of my nose.  Other than that..."

"Isn't it GREAT?!?  It's a great day for hockey!"  He skated around her executing a Mohawk just to show off. He was jubilant.

"You really love this don't you?"  Daria was impressed; it looked like he floated on the ice.  He was graceful and beautiful.  

"Oh, it's the best!  It's like I can fly. Sometimes I get here early and I suit up real quick, so I can have the ice to myself.  It's better than sex! Oh.  Sorry." He blushed.

Daria laughed, "A boy's got to have a hobby."

He joined her laughter, "yeah, and this is the best hobby ever."  He took one more turn around the rink, as the coach called everyone off the ice so that the Zamboni could resurface it. 

Mike walked Daria back to her dorm.  "So I'll see you later on?"

"Sure, thanks for showing me what it's like to be tutored," she handed him the skates.

"No, you keep those.  You'll need them for the next lesson," he waved them back to her.

"Next lesson?"

"You heard Coach, you're a natural."  He waved good-bye to her as he ran off to class.

***

Daria and Mike worked together three days a week in the library.  It wasn't always smooth, but Mike seemed to be having an easier time with his studies.  Daria tutored other students, but Mike was her project.  

At least once a week Daria showed up for practice and the guys taught her nuances of stick handling, slap shots and checking.  They seemed to enjoy checking a bit too much.  

As part of the evaluation process Daria checked Mike's previous term grades.  His G.P.A. was 1.75.  She was horrified.  In her first semester, Daria had a 4.0 average.  She couldn't comprehend how he was doing so poorly.  She talked about it with Trent.

"You know, he's not stupid.  Not like some of the jocks in high school.  He's not going to win a Nobel Prize, but there's just no reason for him to have such bad grades."  She paced around the room, railing at Trent.

Trent didn't know what to say.  Daria was on her favorite subject, Mike.  He hated that guy.  That wasn't fair, he didn't _know _Mike, but he hated the way that Daria seemed fixated on him.  She talked about hockey practice, she talked about his family, she talked about his grades.  She spent more time with Mike than she spent in her own dorm room.  There were nights when Trent only got to see her for a few minutes before he had to go to work.   He had to be careful; he couldn't let her see how bugged he was.  "Not everyone is meant to do well academically."

"I know that, but I just know that if he can tap into all of that physical energy that he could convert it into intellectual energy!"  She was emphatic.  

"Maybe.  Does he want to do that?"  

"Why wouldn't he?" 

"Hey, not everyone wants to do everything.  Just because you _can _do something, doesn't mean that you want to spend every waking moment doing it.  If you're lucky, you find something you're good at and it's something you want to do."  He became thoughtful.

"Oh?  Is there something you're good at that you don't like to do?"  She stopped ranting about Mike and refocused her concentration on Trent.

"I'm not talking about me."  He changed the subject; "all I'm saying is that maybe it's too hard for him.  He might just do enough to get by."

"I can't believe that.  He's so driven.  If he sees something he wants, he goes after it.  You should see how he studies.  Every night he's in the library, working on his classes.  I never thought a jock could be that committed."

"Daria, before you started going to hockey practice, have you ever seen a team practice before?"

"No, why?"

"If you had, you'd know that jocks are intense.  Just like I get lost in a song or you get lost in a story, these guys get lost in their game.  They put everything they have into it. What is hockey practice like?"

"They get out there and they do drills and skating for two hours."

"How often do they do it?"

"Every weekday. Sometimes they get together for a pick up game on the weekend."

"And when is hockey season?"

"September through December."

"So they aren't even in their season." 

Daria mulled it over.  What was Trent saying?  "Right, so if Mike can devote all of that time to hockey, then it would be easy for him to do the same for school."

Trent shook his head, "You're missing my point.  I suppose that if we all put our minds to it we could all do well in school and we could all work on quantum physics?"

"Yes.  Don't you think so?"  She put her grading together with a binder clip.

"No.  Daria, you have to love something to want to be good at it.  The whole idea behind those intelligences that you keep talking about is not just that each person has a method for learning, but each person has a preference for learning.  If Mike doesn't love algebra, he won't do more than just pass it."

"Come on Trent, I don't love algebra, but I do the work to get As."  

"But you already have the inclination.  What about stuff you don't like?"

"That's why I don't take those classes."

"But what if you _had_ to take those classes."

She shuffled her feet and looked at the worn carpeting. "It wouldn't matter.  All college classes are set up for the academically talented to pass."

"But it's not vice versa for athletes is it?"

"No."

"That's all I'm saying."  

"Maybe you have a point.  I've got to get going.  What do you want for dinner?"  And with that, the discussion was ended.

***

Mid-terms.  This is where the rubber meets the road.  Mike and Daria were studying together daily.  Daria's bank account was looking healthy, but she was concerned about Mike.  His quiz grades were still in the seventy percents.  His total grades were up, but mid-terms were going to be key.  He needed to bring his G.P.A up to 2.0 by the end of the school year and mid-terms were the best indication of his progress.  

Mike was always good-natured. If he was concerned about the upcoming exams, he didn't show it.  He bounded into their usual study room for an English cram session.

"Intro to Composition is obviously going to be a written exam.  Are you allowed to use a dictionary and a thesaurus?"  Daria pored over his written work, using a green pen to highlight places she thought he could improve.

"Yes.  It's not like it's one of those professors that thinks that everyone is a writing genius."  Mike fidgeted while Daria graded.

"Here are some places that you can improve.  Your transition between paragraphs is getting better, but it's still weak.  I made a list of transitional words.  Check with the professor to see if she'll let you use it as part of your reference material.  So, instead of using, _first_, _second_ and _third_, you can spice it up with, _therefore_, _additionally_, and _consequently_."  She showed him on the paper how to make the substitutions.  She had him re-write it, so that he could remember it.

"Daria, why don't you have a boyfriend?  You're funny and smart and pretty."  He didn't look up from his work.  Deliberately.

"Uh..." Daria paused.  Why didn't she?  She thought she knew what was coming next.  It wasn't hard to see that Mike liked her.  He included her in his activities.  "Oh, I don't know.  Still nursing that broken heart from high school I guess."  She thought that might warn him off of her territory.  

"Oh.  Bad breakup huh?"  Still paying attention to what he was writing, tongue sticking out of his mouth to steady his pen.

"Something like that."  She frantically sought a way to change the subject.  The pause was palpable.

"We're getting a game up with the team from Boston College on Saturday, want to watch us kick their asses?"  Trust Mike to provide the segue.

"Yeah...can I have my friend come too?"  Daria and Jane had plans to get together for the weekend.  It was Daria's turn to host.

"That would be cool."  Mike presented her with his paper. "Done!  What do you think Coach?"

"Coach?"  Daria took the paper and reviewed it.

"Sure, I have a coach for sports and you're my coach for school."  He leaned back in the chair, hands behind his head.  To read body language, it was obvious that he was wide open to her.

"I'll buy that.  Do I get to scream at you and tell you to hustle?"  She underlined the improvements in his work.

"Sure.  Whatever it takes Coach."  He smiled.  

"It seems like you've got this part down, let's move on to subject-verb agreement."  She opened a writing guide.

"Aw!  That's worse than laps."  

"Play through the pain."  She pointed out the lesson in the book.

***

Jane's hair had been growing out for months.  She had also decided to stop torturing the natural curl into her trademark straight locks.  

"I think I'm poodling out here."   She was urging the curl to relax slightly with a styling product.

"I never thought I'd see you fussing over your hair."  Daria put her tresses up in one of Quinn's scrunchies.  It took three seconds and she was ready to go.

"I've always fussed over my hair, you just never witnessed it.  It took me a half hour and four gels to get my hair straight.  I've decided to stop the madness, except that my hair will not cooperate."  Jane again tried to smooth down the frizz.

"Try this."  Trent held out a tube to his sister.

"What is it?"  She scrutinized the ingredients.  "Oh, silicates.  That might work."  She massaged the goo into her curls.  They softened and became shiny. "Ohhh, very nice.  Where did you learn about this?  I'm keeping it by the way."

"Quinn sent it to me."  Trent kicked back. "I've got more.  Take a new tube."

"Quinn?" Daria asked, reaching for it.

"She needed someone to test it.  She didn't want to test it on animals.  I volunteered."  He was hungry and was deciding what to eat while the girls got ready for their evening.

Daria thought about it and imagined the conversation, "_Trent...I don't want to hurt any bunnies!  Will you try this out for me?_" 

"Hair care.  It's a natural tie in.  She's really serious about this isn't she?  The design on this leaves a lot to be desired.  It shouldn't look so...industrial.  I'll bet I can come up with something much more appropriate."  Jane took the tube from Daria and began to mentally make notes.

"Okay, let's go.  Trent, are you sure you don't want to join us?" Daria put on her jacket.

"No, I just want to stay in, watch the Love Boat, and eat some salad."  He analyzed the menu from Salad King. 

"Okay, we're going to grab a snack now and eat with the guys later.  We'll be back late."  Daria ran down their itinerary.

"Have fun!"  Trent put on a pair of bear slippers and picked up the phone to place his order.  

"So you always tell him where you're going and when you'll be back?" Jane asked as they walked across campus.

"Sure, it's only polite."  Daria ate another fry. 

"So what's the deal here?  Does Trent even live at his house anymore?"  Jane wasn't doing the yenta thing, she was trying to understand the relationship.

"You know, at first I thought it was weird, him hanging around all the time, but I kind of like it.  I have someone to come home to.  Not some cold, empty room.  You should know what I mean, you did it all through high school."  Daria finished her fries and threw the container away.

"You have to wonder why he's there though."  Jane pressed.

"I hadn't really wanted to think about it.  I like it just as it is.  He's..." she searched for the right word, "comfortable.  It's like he's _my_ brother."

"But he's not your brother."

"There you go again with disturbing facts."

"So why do _you _think he's hanging around?"  Jane wrapped her scarf around her throat. Even for March, the air was unusually cold.

"Look Sigmund...I think I know. And I think you think you know.  But for right now, this minute, I don't want to know."

"Denial is not just a river in Egypt.  So what's the hang up?  Mike a real hottie?"  Jane could home in on the real hitch. 

Daria sighed, "Yes, but he's also nice and smart in his way.  He's one of those guys that I never thought would be interested in me, and I for sure never thought I'd be interested in him."

"Are you telling me that you've got two guys hovering around you, but you aren't making a decision?"

"First of all, neither one of them has actually come out and declared anything.  So I'm not leading _anyone_ on.  Furthermore, who says I have to know what I want?  What I want right now is the space to think about these things _before _I jump into something."  Daria steered Jane towards the rink.

"There is such a thing as over-thinking something.  You should just follow your heart."

"Because that's worked so well in the past."

"Touché." 

***

The game was fun.  The guys skated and there were a handful of people cheering for their friends.  Daria was beginning to understand and appreciate the game, but Jane was lost.

"Is it me, or do they all look alike?  It's "Pumpkins on Parade!"  Jane made fun of the team colors.

"No, they don't all look alike, besides you can see their names on their sweaters and they are doing a very good job of playing their positions.  Mike is a right winger."

"Oh?  Politically conservative?  That's not like you..." Jane commented.

"No!  He plays the right wing position.  There's left wing and a center.  Right and left defense and the goaltender."  Daria informed her friend.

"Joke, Daria.  Since when did you become a fan?" 

She shrugged. "I don't know, I hang around, I know the guys, I care about the team.  I guess it rubbed off."

"I don't get it, but it's a cheap night out.  Who's that cute guy over there?"  Jane pointed to a tall, blond standing by the penalty box.

"Oh, that's the assistant coach, his name is Joe.  Want to meet him?"  

"Yes, very much thank you. Maybe this hockey stuff is fun after all."  She looked meaningfully at Joe, who looked meaningfully back at her.  "He's coming for pizza, right?"  

"Yup.  I'll arrange it so you can be with him."  

"That'll work."  

The game lasted nearly two hours and Raft won three to two.  Mike skated a couple of victory laps before stopping by Daria and Jane's seats.

"Hi Daria, did you see me in the crease?  I blew them away!"  He noticed Jane, "You must be Daria's friend, I'm Mike."  He offered his gloved hand.

Jane shook his index finger, "I'm Jane. So you're the Mike I keep hearing about."

"That's me!  I'll be changed in a couple of minutes, don't leave without me."  He zipped off towards the locker room and he high fived the Zamboni driver on his way in.

"He is cute.  I'll tell you, you've got good taste."  Jane said to Daria as she watched Joe out of the corner of her eye.

"How could you tell?  He was under ten pounds of padding and he wore a helmet with a face mask?"

"I'm an artist, I know these things.  Come on, let's wait closer to Joe."  Jane pulled her friend towards the congregating team.  

Introductions were shared all around.  And they made plans to drive over to the pizza place.  It was one of those rare evenings where the excitement of attraction, and the glow of good humor combined into a perfect night.  

"I notice that you and Joe seemed to hit it off."  Daria said as they went up the elevator to her room.

"Yup.  We've got a date for next week.  He's taking me to a real, fancy restaurant, far away from campus."

"Jane, this is Boston, no matter where you are, you're close to a campus."

"You know what I mean.  Mike is an okay guy Daria.  If you don't have an interest in Trent, you could do a lot worse.  It's obvious that he thinks that you hung the moon."  Jane leaned against the wall as Daria unlocked the door.

"Like I said, I haven't decided.  I'll let you know when I do."

"Don't take too long, they both deserve better."

"So do I, now lets drop the subject."

***

Daria paced nervously in the study cubicle.  She looked around the room, the empty walls, the sturdy but decoratively deficient table, the uncomfortable chairs.  Mike was getting his grades and she agreed to either celebrate or commiserate with him over beer at the Rathskeller.

Mike's "Woo-Hoo!" could be heard across the first floor of the library.  Daria cringed, but smiled, knowing that the results must be good.

Mike charged into the room waiving the computer printout.  "I did it!  I passed everything!"  He showed it proudly to Daria.

She took the paper and looked for the As that she expected to see.  Confusion played across her face when she saw the grades.  "You got four Cs."  Disappointment tinged her voice.

"I KNOW! Isn't it GREAT?!?"  Mike could barely contain himself with excitement.  "I called my folks on the way over here.  They want to fix my favorite dinner on Sunday after church, you're invited for being my coach."  He gazed expectantly at her and realized that she was let down. "What's the problem?"

"I just thought that..." She couldn't say it, she couldn't kill his buzz.

"You thought I'd be getting As?" 

"Well...I had hoped..." She couldn't complete the sentence, there was no nice way to say what she was thinking.

"Daria, maybe you don't think this is so great.  You get all As all the time.  For me this is fantastic.  I have never been good in school.  I really worked for these grades.  I'm proud of them."  He smiled, trying to cheer her up.

"I just feel like..."

"I could have worked harder?  I could have devoted more time?" 

"Yes."  She realized what it sounded like.  "What I mean is that you're so determined that you could accomplish anything.  I just know that if you set your mind to it..."

"That's crap.  I did the best that I could.  Come on Daria, do you honestly believe that after a lifetime of just barely making it that I could suddenly turn into a brain?"  

"Why not?  I gave you the tools to help with the work."  She grasped to make him understand.

"I love that you believe in me so strongly, but you've got to face facts.  I play hockey, and I play it damn well.  I eat, sleep and breathe the game.  I love it so much that not only will I be playing the rest of my life; I'm going to be teaching it to my kids and my grandkids.  That's my passion.  Grades were never all that important to me.  Why would I do any more than I had to, to get by?"  
  


"That's just it, if you did spend more time studying, then your grades would be better."  Daria looked at the grade report. He had pulled his G.P.A up to a 2.1.  If he kept these grades until finals, he'd still be on the team next year.  

"But I don't want to spend my time that way.  Let me turn it around. How good are you at hockey?"  

"I'm crap at hockey."  Daria admitted.

"Right.  You just started, like I just started studying.  How much do you think you'd have to practice to be as good as I am?"

"I'd never be as good as you are.  I don't have the physical build for it, I haven't been playing as long as you have and there aren't enough hours in the day for me to ever be able to catch up."  

"Exactly."  He smiled.  "Come on.  You have performed a miracle.  I am on the road to a 'Gentlemen's C' and there is no shame in that.  Coach, you did the best with what you had, and I'm proud of you."  He kissed her tenderly on the top of her head.  

***

Daria read quietly while Trent watched "The People's Court."  A commercial came on and Trent came into the living room to see if there was a soda in the fridge.  

"How come you're here?  Don't you have a session with Mike?" Trent popped the top on a Vanilla Coke.

"Nope, he's happy with his Cs, so we've cut back to twice a week.  How is that stuff anyway?"  

Trent took a slug, "Sort of a cross between Coke and vanilla pudding."

"Yum."  Daria wrinkled up her nose. 

"You know, I've had the worst craving for steak.  It's...what's the word?  Primal."  

"I'm afraid they don't have steak tonight in the dining hall.  I think it's liver night."  Again, involuntary nose wrinkling.

"Not even close.  There's a Outback in Cambridge, let's go get some real food for a change."  Trent got up as if to get ready.

Daria looked at him like he had grown a head out of his elbow.  "You want to take me to dinner?"

"What, you don't want to eat?"  Trent found his boots and began lacing them up.

She thought about it for a minute.  A restaurant away from campus.  "I don't know..."

"Come on, they have cheese fries."  He held his hand out to help her out of her chair.

"Okay, you've sold me." 


	7. The Groupie

**The Groupie**

**By Ruthless Bunny **

Trent had arrived home at around five in the morning.  He showered, to get the stink of cigarette smoke off of him before going to sleep.  He was about to turn in when he noticed Daria sleeping in the other bed.  Most nights he was too tired to pay attention.  Usually she was a lump bundled up in her bedclothes, but tonight it was warm in the room, so her posture was more relaxed.  Her hair was tousled across the pillow and her leg and foot were exposed to the air in the room.  Something about her peacefulness struck him.  Awake, Daria was tense, but asleep she was serene. Trent quieted his breathing, hoping that he wouldn't wake her.  He contemplated the perfection of this one quiet moment.   He climbed into bed and watched her sleep until slumber overtook him. 

Daria first saw her out of the corner of her eye as she came out of the dining hall at breakfast.  She was an odd little figure.  Stringy blond hair, a Campbell tartan kilt, an oversized flannel shirt and a huge pair of black boots.  Oh yeah, and a homemade Mystik Spiral T-shirt.  That's what made Daria do the double take.  She tried to see if it was someone that she knew.  After all, who else but friends and relations even knew who or what Mystik Spiral was?  If the girl saw Daria stare, she didn't acknowledge it.  She seemed to be waiting for someone. Craning around, trying to catch a glimpse.  Daria watched for a couple of minutes, but she was late for a lecture, so she pondered the waif on her way. 

Tea time.  That's how Daria had started to think of their afternoons together.  He usually had soda in the fridge and lately Daria had taken to stopping at the coffee stall for cakes before heading back to the dorm.  They had a ritual in their habits.  Daria opened the door and saw Trent writing in his notebook.  

"Oh hey, you're back.  So how was it?"  He looked up at her and closed the book, the signal that he was not engrossed, merely occupied.

"Usual stuff.  We named this big bug that was hanging out in the lab.   It's been there for three days now.  At first we tried to kill it, but it's the Rasputin of bugs. So we christened him Steve."  She set down her pack and held out the bag to him so he could set up their repast.

"Wasn't your TA kind of upset about that?"

"I can't help that Steve the TA and Steve the cockroach have the same name.  It was purely unintentional."  She pointedly ignored his look, "Really.  The bug just looked like a Steve."

"Is this okay to eat?" Trent held up his slice of pound cake.

"Yes, I got it after I left the lab.  And washed my hands."

"Okay."  He took an appreciative bite.

"Oh, and another weird but unrelated event.  I saw one of your fans.  I had no idea that your popularity extended beyond the pub."  She took her heavy sweater off and threw it into the bedroom and onto her bed. 

"Well, the fans don't live at the pub.  That's probably Rayna."  He slurped his Coke and took another bite of cake.

"How do you know?" Daria opened her soda and narrowed her eyes at him. 

"We're popular, but not so popular that we don't know who the hard core fans are."  He was infuriatingly matter-of-fact. 

Where could this conversation go?  If she said one more word about it, it might give him the wrong idea. She couldn't help herself. "You have _one _hard core fan?  So why is she hanging around mydorm?"

He shifted around and coughed.  "Crumb," he said, stalling for time, "I guess she followed me here."

Daria turned on the television, but she had a dozen thoughts whirling around her head.  _What is this dizzy broad doing stalking Trent?  Why is he letting her?  How come he never mentioned her before?  What is it that the girl wants with Trent?_  She looked at him as he affected a slouching posture on the orange sofa.  He was completely unaware of the turmoil he had caused.  Or was he?

"But you're not concerned."  Daria sat at her desk and booted up her computer.

"No.  She's cool."  He stretched and his joints popped. 

"And you know this...how?"

He shrugged.  Trent liked to work on instinct.  

"Fine.  I've got some stuff to catch up on here."  She turned towards her computer.  She was miffed, but she couldn't exactly explain why.  She pretended to be absorbed in her work to avoid continuing the conversation.

On Thursday Daria came out of the Student Union after catching a bite with Steve the TA.  In a crowd of people Daria wasn't used to recognizing faces, but again she saw Rayna.  She was still in her Mystik Spiral T-shirt, but she had braided her hair into cornrows.  

"Steve, what do you think of that girl over there?"  Daria indicated Rayna without actually pointing her out.

He appraised her.  "Hmm.  Nice rack.  Probably easy." 

"What?!?" 

"Sure, some girls just have that vibe.  You just know that you can talk them into bed."  He laughed as they walked towards the lab.

"That sounds incredibly sexist," she thought a moment, "so what exactly does a guy do when he wants to talk a girl into bed?"

"Haven't you ever...no, you give off a 'keep-away' vibe."  

"What the hell are you talking about?"  Daria stopped in the quad to turn towards him.

"As a guy you learn to put girls into categories," he counted on his fingers, "there are girls that like to sleep around.  They're fun for a minute, but you usually don't have anything in common with them except horniness.  It's a coyote fuck, you gnaw your arm off the day after to get away."  He continued as they walked, "there are possible girlfriends.  They're friendly and nice, but they want you to take them places.  Which is fine if that's what you're looking for, but it's pointless if you're horny.  The last ones are like you.  Girls that don't seem approachable.  They could be making nasty comments about people, or they shut a guy down.  Or if they're like you, they are really shy and trying to build a shell so that no one can get in to hurt them.  Except you've got more of a 'keep-away because there's someone else' vibe, than the standard 'keep-away' vibe."  Steve kept walking.  

Daria thought that he and his namesake had a lot in common.  "Right, so get to the part where you talk them into bed."  Daria could not believe that this guy _ever_ got laid. 

"You've got to pick the easy ones.  That's the girl that's throwing her hair back at parties saying, '_I'm soooo drunk_.'  That's the easy girl mating call.  Once you've identified her, you move in.  You try to make her believe that you think she's the most interesting girl you've ever met, which is hard if she's in a sorority, but it can be done.  You just tell her that she's really beautiful and funny and intelligent.  They usually follow you home after that."  

"So the magic formula is alcohol?"

"No, you've missed the point completely.  The magic formula is to make her feel special.  For example, with you, I'd try to talk about fancy literature.  I'd drop funny lines that I think you'd appreciate.  I'd make fun of other people with you.  I couldn't tell _you_ that you were beautiful."

"Oh?  Why not?"  Daria almost got her feelings hurt.

"Simple.  You don't believe that you are, so you'd think I was lying to you to get in your pants."

"Yeah, I suppose so."

"Not that you aren't beautiful.  You just aren't comfortable with it.  I'd appeal to your brains.  That's the way to your heart."  He held the door open for her as they walked into the building.

"You sure have my number."

"Nope, but I'll bet some other guy does."  He walked into the lab and began to organize the equipment. "Daria, hand me that box of slides."  He pointed to some stuff at a lab station. 

She did, but she couldn't really focus on what it was that she was doing.  Good thing she was just helping out and not participating in the lab.  

***

Trent stepped out of the side door to get some fresh air.  The air in the club was solid with cigarette smoke, a preponderance of it clove cigarette smoke, either that or hemp.  It didn't matter, it was smoke and it was bothering the hell out of him. He gulped the cold, fresh air trying to get the burning sensation out of his throat.  

"Hi Trent.  You guys are sounding really good tonight."  Rayna approached him, smoking.  

He coughed, "Huh?"  

She raised her voice, "You sounded really good!"

Trent took the earplugs out.  "Sorry?"

"You're really good."  She blew some smoke at him.

He coughed again. "Oh, thanks...uh...do you mind...my voice."

She blushed with embarrassment, "oh, sorry."  She ground it out on the pavement with her spiked high heel.

He waved the smoke away and inhaled some more cold air.  

"That can't be good for your voice.  I can go back in and get you some hot water with lemon!"  She started to walk off.

"No...I'm fine."  But she was already gone, and it did sound tempting.  He hated to be alone with her.  There was something creepy.  She wasn't really a groupie.  Groupies were up front about wanting sex.  They just put it out there.  Rayna wanted something more.  

She returned with a steaming mug.  Trent took it wordlessly and sipped at it.

"So you wear earplugs."  It was a statement, but she waited for him to explain.

"Yeah, all that noise.  The guys rag me about it, but at least I can still hear ambulances."  He finished the mug and handed it to her.  "Thanks."  He expected her to go back in, but she just stood there.  "I've gotta go."

She lunged at him and planted a wet kiss on him.  It repulsed him.  "Hey, that's not cool."

"It's that other girl isn't it?  The one you live with."  Tears shone in her eyes and her lip trembled, but she bravely lingered to have her heart broken.

Trent didn't know what to say.  It was sort of, but he couldn't lie and say that Daria was his girlfriend.  It was awkward.  He stared at the ground, trying not to look into her eyes.  "Yeah.  It's her."

"I don't get it.  She's not at all like you.  Why?"  And without knowing it, Rayna asked the question that Trent had been asking himself for nearly two months.  Why was he hanging around? What was it about her?

"I can't explain it.  No one can.  You just know."  He shrugged.

"It's not fair.  All the cool guys are taken."  She walked away, lighting up as she went.

***

Daria got back to the room later than usual.  Trent had ordered Brazilian food for the two of them.

"Looks good and smells better.  What are we celebrating?"  Daria dug into the Frango.

"Jesse's new girlfriend."  Trent smiled and toasted her with a Materva. 


	8. Exposed

Exposed 

**By Ruthless Bunny **

Daria left work earlier than usual.  Her Tuesday student had begged off with a cold, so Daria decided to head back to the dorms and have a much longed for nap.  There are things that people take for granted in their lives; that the car will start, that the milk won't be sour and that you can walk through the door of your domicile without any untoward surprises.  So Daria was unprepared for the surprise that awaited her.  

Trent was sitting at Courtney's desk.  Eating a bowl of corn flakes--naked.

"Gah!" Daria exclaimed in shock as she dropped her backpack and then her eyes.  "What are you doing?"

"Eating breakfast." Trent said.  

"Put some clothes on."  Daria was still looking at a small dark stain on the carpet.

"Oh, that."  Trent slowly rose up out of the chair.  Daria had averted her eyes, but it was impossible to miss the head of Woody Woodpecker on Trent's cheek, bobbing away from her as he went into the bedroom to find something to put on.

He came back out wearing a pair of blue and white striped boxer shorts.  Daria was still discommoded.  "Those aren't clothes."

Trent looked down.  "Well I'm not naked."  He continued to eat his corn flakes. "Besides, you usually don't come home until later."

Daria shook her head.  "What's that got to do with it?"

"I'm usually naked until you get back."  He crunched away, trying to beat the milk's effort to make the cereal soggy.

Daria had an unpleasant thought as she looked around the room, imagining Trent's naked ass on every surface in it.  She shuddered.  "I didn't need to know that."

"I don't see what the big deal is.  We all have bodies."  He finished and walked into the bathroom to rinse out the bowl.

"The big deal is that I prefer not to see that much of _your_ body.  I think we should preserve some mystery here."  

His chuckle echoed against the tile, "Yeah, I guess there's nothing left for you to discover."

Daria covered her eyes, "Oh God."  He was right, she had seen everything.  In the deepest part of her brain, she also registered a positive response.  If she did entertain any thoughts, at least there was something to hold an audience. 

"Well I'm not reciprocating.  Dammit Trent, is it too much to ask for you to not parade around in the nude?"

"Nude," again he chucked, "Nude.  That sounds so weird."  He smiled at the thought.  Actually he had a vision of a Botticelli Daria as Venus, rising up on the half-shell.

"Seriously, this bugs me."

"Why?"

Daria tried to articulate what it was that made her so uncomfortable.  She opened her mouth but words did not flow forth.  "It does.  That's all you need to know. What if Courtney came back instead of me?"

"Then I would have put on some pants."  

"But _she_ would have seen you naked." 

"Let's face it Daria, _anyone _who comes through that door between noon and three o'clock runs the risk of seeing me naked."  

"You have got to stop giving me these visuals."  She rubbed her temples. 

"Is it so bad?" 

"What?" She finally got back her nerve to look at him.

"Me naked?"

That stumped her.  She exhaled slowly, counting to ten.  She wasn't exactly angry, but she needed to regain her composure.  "No.  That's not it.  I'm not even going wherever it is that statement leads.  I don't think that it's too much to ask that you wear something when you're in the room."

"I'll make you a deal.  I'll wear my shorts.  That's not naked."

"Shorts still freak me out."

"Come on Daria, be fair."  
  


Although it was her room.  Although he was ostensibly her guest.  Although whatever welcome it was that he had three months ago when he first showed up was worn out, Daria capitulated.  "Fine, shorts then.  But be damn sure that they're buttoned up."  As she said this she realized that Trent's shorts weren't buttoned, and that their purpose was moot until he did so.  "Oh God." 

***

Daria was chopping her salad into even smaller pieces, as she filled Jane in on the latest in her life.  "So I finally killed the cockroach.  Steve is officially no more."

"So how long did he last before he went to the great beyond?"  Jane indicated to the waitress that she wanted a refill on her soda.

"He was around for a good week or so.  Fast bugger too.  So big that we bought a collar for him."  

"So how did you bring him down?"  

"Size 5 ½ B Doc Martin."

"Oooh.  Yuk.  Did you disinfect?"  Jane bit into her burger, causing a tomato slice to ooze out of the bun. "Is it me, or is it pointless to have all this crap on a burger?"

"Pointless.  So what's with Trent roaming around in the nude?"  Daria sprung it suddenly, almost like you would bungee jump, just close your eyes and go.

"Huh? Nude?  You say _nude_?" Jane laughed as she took the tomato, onion and lettuce off of the bun.  "Rhymes with prude I guess."  

"Nice.  Thank you.  Forget I asked."  

"No, this is fascinating.  So Trent has turned back into nature boy?"

"Turned back?  So he has...he is...you know."  Daria probed for the right word.

"A nudist.  Yes, apparently since infancy.  Pass the ketchup, I need more."  Jane reached and Daria handed it to her.

"So you've seen him..."  

"Naked.  Undressed.  In his birthday suit. Yup."  

"Isn't that perverted?"

"It's not like I wanted to.  We reached an understanding about it.  He promised to cover up when I was around, and I promised to give him fair warning before I entered a room.  It didn't work when he was asleep though."  She hit the "57" on the bottle to release the Pittsburgh tomato coulis. 

"Don't you think it's weird?"  Daria temporarily stopped fidgeting with her food.

"No.  Why does it bug you so much?  Too much of what you're not getting?" Jane dipped a fry into the mound of ketchup on her plate.  
  


"Your mind is in the gutter."

"No, seriously.  So he's naked.  Big deal.  Why does it bother you?"

"I don't want to see a naked guy in my room. Okay?"  She concentrated on evenly distributing the olives.  

"Daria, we're all naked under our clothes.  I don't understand."  Jane stopped and looked at her friend.  It was clear that the situation distressed Daria, but it was more than was warranted.

"I don't really understand myself.  There's something so intimate about it.  Is it that he's taking me for granted?  It's _my _space for God's sake, but if he's naked, then he's staking his claim or something."  

"I think you're reading too much into it.  Trent just likes to be naked.  He's been naked in front of the band, if that makes you feel better."

"It doesn't." 

"So if it's not just a comfort issue for him, you think that he's trying to tell you something?"

"Yes.  I do.  I think he's trying to tell me that he likes to be naked...around me."

"That's always been a possibility.  Let's face it Daria, you haven't exactly sent him packing.  What did you suppose he was going to think?" 

"So we go from my best friend's brother to naked around the room?"

"Come on Daria, don't tell me that you believed any of that crap he used to move in on you.  He doesn't even think you believed it.  You gave him a green light.  Now he's a part of your family."

"You're kidding."

"No.  I don't kid about naked.  Daria, you are getting to the point where you are going to have to deal with him.  If you don't want him, then you need to kick him out now."

"I like having him around.  When he's clothed.  I just don't know how I feel yet."

Jane responded, "Like having him around?  Are you waiting for some romantic moment?  He's not going to write you a song.  He's not going to get down on one knee and propose.  He's not going to do any of that crap.  There is no romance.  That ain't the Trent we know, it ain't any guy we know." Daria processed the information and Jane continued.  "As for not knowing how you feel, that's bullshit.  You either want him or you don't."  
  


"That's not fair.  I'm not ready to be in a relationship yet."  
  


"You don't get to decide how long the guys in your life will stick around.  Sometimes you've got to take what you can when it's there.  Daria, he won't play this game forever.  If you don't say something to him, he'll say something to you.  He seems to be taking his own sweet time about it, but he's not going to live in limbo forever.  Tell me, even if you can't tell him, what do you want?"  

Daria put her fork down and cradled her chin in her hands as she thought.  She got choked up.  It was emotion that she wasn't prepared to feel.  Tears came to her eyes.  She gulped in air trying to keep the tears from falling, to become calm.

Jane had never seen Daria in tears, and for no apparent reason.  "Sorry I asked."

Daria nodded and indicated that she would be prepared to answer the question shortly.  

The waitress stopped at their table, "Is everything alright?  Can I get you a refill?  Oh...sorry...I'll come back."

It took a minute, but Daria managed to compose herself, "Okay, I wasn't ready for that at all."  
  


"Apparently not.  PMS?"  Jane tried to understand.

"No, how dumb.  Oh...wait.  Yeah.  PMS."  

"I'll ask after next week then."

"Fair enough." 

***

Daria beat the team onto the ice that morning.  She skated around the rink on the pristine ice.  The quiet skrush-skrush of her skates soothing her nerves.  She had gotten home late the night before, as usual Trent was out at the pub working.  She lay in her bed, looking at his bed across the room.  The image that came to mind was of him, lying naked in the bed.  It was disturbing, arousing and ridiculous all at the same time.  A morning of physical activity would chase all of those unwanted images out of her mind. 

Mike came in and waved to her as he made his way to the locker room to suit up.  "Hey!  Looking good!"  His voice boomed across the ice.  

Daria waved back and continued to skate. Mike was one of the first guys on the ice that morning and he caught up to her and turned around to skate backwards so they could have a conversation.  The rest of the team and coaches filtered in, but they had some time alone on the ice.

"So what's new?"  Mike opened.

Daria shrugged. "Slept like crap last night." 

"So that's why you're up early skating?  What's on your mind?"

"It's too stupid to talk about."

"Isn't it funny how it's the stupid stuff that nags at us the most?  I remember once, I just couldn't manage a particular shot.  I was up all hours trying to work it out.  Stupid.  I should have just come to the rink."  He skated with his stick in his left hand, breaking away and tearing up the ice, sending powder up in his wake.  "Woo-Hoo!" He shouted with joy listening to the echo off of the cantilevered ceiling. 

Daria took one of the old sticks that he had given her.  Joe, the assistant coach, had set up a line of pucks.  She skated over and practiced her slap shot.  The pucks didn't _thwack_ and fly into the net as she had hoped.  They slid across the ice and had there been a goaltender, would have easily been intercepted.  Another disappointing development.

Mike skated behind her and hit some of the pucks she had missed.  They sailed into the net, in exactly the same place every time.

"How do you do that?"  Daria marveled at the skill.  Mike made it look effortless.

"You've got to create your own time and space on the ice," Mike said mystically, executing a Mohawk as he came around for another round.  Joe hit the pucks back to center ice.  

"That's poetic."

"Not as poetic as Gretzky.  So what's bugging you Hon?"  

She deliberated about asking him, but she figured _what the heck_, "Mike, do you hang around your house nude?"  
  


"Nude?  Wow, that word sounds really funny," he chuckled, "I grew up in a house with eight kids, there weren't an awful lot of secrets. Of course none of us deliberately strutted our stuff around. Oh wait...I take that back, Patrick is a real nudist.  He used to embarrass the hell out of Katherine.  I was pretty small when he left home," he reminisced.  "So why are you asking me about being naked?"  He tried to leer, but it just didn't come off.

Daria smacked him, hurting her hand on his plastic gear.  "Knock it off.  No, it's just that...oh, never mind.  It's not worth mentioning."

"Huh, so someone you know has taken to hanging out in the raw.  I'd love to see your face."  He laughed.

"What's that supposed to mean?"  She became annoyed all over again. 

"Daria, you just aren't a naked kind of chick.  You can't even bring yourself to _say_ naked."

"So you think naked is perfectly okay?  Even when you're hanging around the house?"

"Sure, it's comfortable."

"Is that how you hang out?"

"No.  But I live with three other guys."  
  


"So you're uncomfortable being naked in front of them?"

"Hell no, I change in a locker room, I've seen naked guys a million times, no thrill in it for me anymore.  I live in a bachelor apartment.  There isn't a place in it I'd want touching my bare skin.  Oh, gotta go, it's time to start."  He skated away to where the team had gathered for the first drill.

Daria was forced to envision Mike naked, and found that it didn't bother her that much.  She also knew it was time to give up the ice to the team.  She decided to eat a big breakfast before she went to class.  She had a lot to digest.

***

Trent enjoyed his night off by staying in and watching videos.  He sat in his bed, drinking soda and eating snacks.  Daria came in early as well, one of her rare nights when she didn't have schoolwork to attend to.  She sat in her bed and watched Trent across the room.  

"This is kind of nice.  We hardly ever are in at the same time."  Trent took a swig of his soda.

"I like it because it requires no brain cells at all."  She settled back on her pillows and watched the video.  "I love this part."

They stayed up late; it was nearly one when they turned out the lights.  Daria couldn't remember ever being conscious of him being in the room with her.  If there was overlap, it was very early in the morning, when she was too deeply asleep to be aware of it.  

"Good night Daria," Trent called over to her.

"Good night Trent."  She lay in the bed, listening to rustling of the bedclothes.  She could see something being tossed in the dim moonlight.  "What was that?"

"Shorts."  

"Aw!  I thought we had an agreement."

"But it's bedtime.  I'm under three layers of bedding here.  Don't tell me you don't get undressed for bed."  

"I don't.  I'm always wearing something."  She remembered the night the house caught on fire and was happy that she was prepared to run out in the middle of the night.

"Have you ever tried it?"

"No.  Why?"

"You should try it.  I bet you'll never go back."  He teased her.

She lay there in silence.  What was there to say?

"Come on Daria, I dare you."

"So you want me to take off my night gown?"

"Try it.  It's really more comfortable."

"I don't think so.  It's just not me."

"Do it for just a couple of minutes," he wheedled.

It was too compelling. "Fine.  If I do it will you stop hassling me about it?"

"Yeah.  Give it five minutes."

She sighed and wriggled out of her nightshirt under the covers.  "There."

"So you don't have anything on at all?"  Trent asked as he looked in her direction, his view of her distorted by the bedclothes pulled up to her chin.

"No.  Stop thinking about it."  There was silence from his side of the room.  "I mean it!"

"Uh, so what should we talk about?"

"Nothing.  No talking, no thinking.  Just sleeping."  She rolled over, but her thoughts whirled.  She was naked and he was naked.  They were naked together.  The light shone through the window, making everything in the room perfectly clear.  She thought about closing the blinds, but the moonlight was pretty, and now she was naked, so getting up was out of the question.  She could see him blinking.  She tried closing her eyes, but she was too keyed up to sleep.  She wondered what his skin was like, aside from the pictures on it.  His hands were large and callused.  But what about the rest of him?  Despite her best efforts, Daria could not think of anything but Trent naked.  

Trent looked at Daria. He smiled because she was clearly facing her demons.  He didn't understand why she was so hung up about clothes.  He enjoyed challenging her bourgeois attitudes.  He wondered what she was thinking.  He tried not to think about anything.  The fact that she was in the same room with him, naked, was making him crazy.  He wondered what her skin was like.  Then he tried to solve for pi.  

The air was thick with expectation when the telephone ruined the moment.  Daria caught it on the second ring.  

"Daria?  It's Quinn!"  She was whispering hysterically.

"Is everything alright?" Daria sat up in bed, momentarily forgetting that she was naked.  Trent got an eyeful before she drew the covers up. 

"Mom and Dad are fine!  Oh God Daria, I really messed up!  You have got to forgive me, it just came out!"  Quinn babbled.

"Quinn, get a hold of yourself.  What is the problem?  What did you mess up?"

"I told Mom and Dad that Trent was living with you."

"You did WHAT?"  Daria dropped the phone, the receiver banged against the wall before she could retrieve it.

"It just came out," said the disembodied voice over the wire. 

"How did it even become a topic of conversation?"

"I don't know!  One minute we were discussing a sale at Cashman's, then Mom thought about getting you some new clothes, then I mentioned that you were crowded in your room...it's not my fault really!"

Daria sighed. "Fine.  I guess it's no big deal really. He's just crashing here temporarily anyway.  They know he does that."

"Uh, no.  I don't think they think that."

"What else.  Just tell me everything."  
  


"They're coming up!  They got a flight out on a shuttle tomorrow!"  
  


"Great.  Fabulous."  Daria reached for her nightshirt and holding it in expectation of putting it back on once she hung up with her sister.  

"Act surprised!"

"Right, because I wouldn't want to betray any of _your_ secrets."

"I _knew_ you would understand."

"Thanks for the heads up."

"Sorry about outing you."

"It happens."

Daria hung up and put her nightshirt back on.  "Trent.  Forget about being naked. Put your shorts back on and look alive.  My parents arrive tomorrow."  

"I guess that Twister is out of the question then."  

"Oh God. My parents are going to be here tomorrow.  What are we going to do?  The place is a wreck.  All your stuff is over here."

Trent, rather than picking up on the clue that he might want to pack up and move out, followed another line of thinking.  "Daria?  Are you horny too?"  He thought he heard something, but it wasn't a response.  "Are you growling at me?" 


	9. Caught

**Caught**

**By Ruthless Bunny **

Daria woke up feeling crappy.  She hadn't slept much since she got the late night call from Quinn announcing that the cat was out of the bag.  Helen and Jake knew that Trent was living with Daria and that they had booked the first flight into Logan to check up on their little girl.

Her first reaction was to tidy up.  She thought she might kick Trent out, act as though nothing was going on, but on further consideration, she abandoned that idea.  The best way to deal with her lunatic parents was to confront them head-on with the truth.  Trent was just crashing with her.  Like he had done before and like he would do again in the future.  Just a normal day.  No romance.  No sex.  Only innocence in the face of overreaction.  

Daria had taken all of their clothes to the laundry room to be cleaned.  She filled up all the washers with everything, clothing, towels and bed linens.  She had left Trent in the shower, which according to his usual routine, meant that he wouldn't need a towel until the drying cycle had finished.  She decided to wait in the laundry room for the rinse cycle to start to add the fabric softener.  Laundering soothed her nerves.  Watching the wash through the window made her feel that her troubles were being cleansed along with the sheets.  Daria sat back in the orange plastic chair and enjoyed the extraction cycle.

In the room Trent was steaming in the shower.  The building may have been old, ugly and industrial but it had unlimited hot water and pressure that wouldn't quit.  Trent had used bleach to scrub the tile, which had started to look grungy.  He also did the grout on the sink and the floors.  The entire room reeked of Clorox.  It was a comforting, clean smell.  

He smiled as he thought about the previous night.  He and Daria, sleeping in the room together for once, he had managed to talk her out of her nightgown.  She played at resisting, but he knew that somewhere, she wanted to walk on the wild side.  He had hoped that last night might be the night that he could tell her, but everything was ruined by Quinn's phone call. 

Trent felt that he was making headway.  He knew that Daria wouldn't let him stick around if she didn't want him there.  He wanted more though.  Reassurance that what he wanted was what she wanted too.  Daria denied everything.  Jane couldn't offer any help at all. Trent's intuition told him that Daria felt the way he did, but he also knew that if something didn't happen soon, that the window of opportunity would close.  As the steam rose in the shower, fogging up the entire bathroom, Trent contemplated his next move.  

He thought he heard movement in the sitting room and he called out, "Daria, could you hand me a towel please?"  He poked his wet head out of the shower stall and waited, but there was nothing.  He heard shuffling, so he knew someone was in the room, so he investigated further. 

"Oh my God!  He's naked."  Helen cried, sinking onto the sofa.  

Jake stood there, smiling.  He liked Trent.  They shared the same cluelessness.  He extended his hand.  "Trent, my man!"

Trent blushed.  Even he knew that he just blew it, blew it huge. "Hey Mr. Morgendorffer.  Uh, Daria should be back with the laundry.  I'll just be...in...here."  He retired to the bathroom and wiped his hand across the foggy mirror.  He could hear Helen and Jake arguing.  He knew that he was the cause of all of the antagonism.  He also knew that he just made Daria's job about three hundred percent harder. 

He massaged some gel into his hair and tried to think of something that would keep him in the bathroom for three days.

Daria finished folding the clothes and restacked them in the laundry basket.  She admired her job.  Doing housework was always a chore, but she found that once she got into it, that she enjoyed the mindless pleasure of creating order out of chaos.  She hauled the basket down the hall to her room 

The door was propped open, just as she left it, but inside her parents were in the middle of a knock-down drag out.  They both stopped and looked at her.  The picture of domestic felicity.

"Daria, what on earth is going on!?!" Helen demanded.

"Laundry?"  She set the basket down, trembling as her Mom wound herself into a tirade.

"I think there's a little something more going on than laundry young lady.  What is Trent doing here?"  

"I think he's stranded in the bathroom." Daria coolly rose with a towel and some clothes for Trent and handed them into him. 

Helen glared at Daria, Jake looked around helplessly, trapped in a small space with two volatile women, one passive-aggressive and one completely aggressive.  He usually retreated into another room and he glanced longingly into the bedroom, where he saw the two twin beds.  

"Helen, beds!"  Jake pointed at the clearly separate sleeping arrangement.

"Jake, please, I'm trying to understand what's going on here!"  Helen had her arms akimbo on her hips.  

"Well, I understand that nothing much could be going on in a twin bed."  Jake was unusually mellow, and observant.

Helen turned to the bedroom and saw what he was talking about.  "Jake, get real!  Don't you remember Allan's van?"

Jake cast his mind back to when he and Helen were dating, and once had an assignation in the back of a buddy's borrowed van.  He smiled inappropriately at the memory.

Helen sighed in annoyance.  "Jake, I need you to back me up here."

He walked over to Daria and hugged her, "How's it going kiddo?"  He kissed the top of her head.  

Daria visibly relaxed.  She smiled and realized that it was only Helen who was off the handle.  Jake was on her side.  Not that she had a side.  There was nothing to discuss. It's all perfectly innocent.  "Pretty good Dad."  All of her stress disappeared and she uncharacteristically snuggled into him. She longed for a cuddle and her Dad was a good port in a storm.  

Trent was waiting for a quiet moment to emerge from the bathroom.  Although he could hear Helen fuming, he figured that he wouldn't get a better opportunity.  He headed towards the bedroom as though he had a purpose.  He grabbed the laundry basket on the way in.  Putting the clothes away and making the beds would give him a reason to be out of the room for an hour, two if he did it right. 

"Just one minute, young man." Helen stopped him just as he made it across the threshold.  

"Yas'm?"  He answered, in his most polite, "parent" mode.

"Just what are you doing here?"

"Daria offered to put me up while my apartment is being fumigated."  He moved the basket to the desktop, since it didn't look like he would be going anywhere soon.  

"See Helen, there's a logical explanation."  Jake smiled and began to explore the surroundings.  He looked at Courtney's pictures.  "Look, it's people I don't even know.  Daria already _has_ a roommate." 

Helen wasn't easily derailed and the apparent loss of her back up wasn't going to deter her investigation.  "Right Jake, my roommate Sylvia had a roommate too."

"See?" Jake brightened, then he got what she was saying, "Oh."  

Daria had decided on a tactic, and it seemed that that despite evidence to the contrary, Helen wasn't going to believe her story.  It was time to change strategy.

"Mom, are you saying that you and Dad began your relationship while you were both at Middleton?"  

Helen was taken aback by Daria's direct approach.  "Yes, and that's exactly why I'm here."  
  


"But you aren't saying that what you did was a mistake."  Daria glanced at her father, who turned to his wife for her explanation.  It almost seemed that his eyes were moist.

"Of course not.  Your father and I were mature and in love."  Helen felt the battle slipping away from her.

"But Trent and I..." Daria waited.  There were few people who would deny that she was mature for her age.  Trent was just mature. 

"It's not the same thing."  Helen paced the small room.  It felt to her like the walls were closing in on her.

"No it isn't.  Trent and I aren't together.  Trent is here until it's time for him to go back to his apartment."  Daria added, hoping that this would end the discussion.  

"Helen, I'm hungry. Let's all go get some lunch."  Jake used his diversionary tactic, he hoped his wife would eat something, perhaps have an early cocktail and get into a better mood.

Helen, seeing that Jake was not only no help, but actually undermining her position decided to divide and conquer.  "Daria, it's been a while since we've had some time together.  Let's go grab some lunch.  Jake, why don't you and Trent get a beer or something?"

Daria felt herself being steered out of the room by her mother's firm grasp on her elbow.  Jake gave her a lame wave goodbye and Trent stood next to him, like a deer caught in the headlights. 

***

The restaurant was plush.  The women were shown to a booth and given menus the size of the Constitution and written in the same script.  

"I need something to calm my nerves. A bottle of chardonnay please. Two glasses."  She smiled and contemplated her lunch.

"Mom, two glasses?"  Daria peered skeptically at Helen.

"You're mature.  I know you won't overindulge.  Besides, I hate to drink alone.  Oh, they have my favorite, lobster ravioli."  Helen had the appearance of someone who had resigned herself to a situation.  In reality, she was merely reloading.

"Maybe a little."  Daria knew that she had to tread lightly.  Helen was no fool, and she didn't give birth to any either.  She sipped at the glass and appreciated the flavor.

The women gave their order to the waiter and Helen settled back and smiled.

"Daria, you know that I only want what's best for you.  That's why your father and I came up here.  We wanted to make sure that everything was okay."  She swirled the wine around the glass and admired the movement. "This really is a nice bottle."

"Everything is fine.  I've maintained my G.P.A.; I've got a good job.  My priorities are straight.  You don't have anything to worry about."  Daria realized that she was hungry and reached for the breadbasket.  

"Oh, I know that as long as you've got your academic career in line that you think that your priorities are in order, but Daria, you can't discount your emotional health.  You know that your father and I like Trent, but a romance while you're in college can ruin your concentration."

"I'm not having a romance.  Trent is my friend."  Daria stuck to her guns.

"Trent may be your friend, but he wants to be more.  I also know that you wouldn't have him in your room if you didn't reciprocate."  Helen relied on her training and stated her case.

Daria took another swallow of wine.  Her mother knew. She tried to think of a rejoinder, something that would settle it once and for all, but there wasn't one.  It was true.  She and Trent were going to be more to each other.  Daria had just decided or realized.  It didn't matter exactly how it happened, but Daria knew.

"Honey, please, I'm not blind.  Just because it hasn't happened yet, doesn't mean it won't happen.  You have a good brain in your head.  Up until now you've been using it.  But, you are playing with fire.  At some point, you and Trent are going to be lovers and everything will change."  
  


"Why?  Why does everything have to change?"  Daria was still struggling with the recognition of her feelings.  The last thing Daria ever wanted was change.

"Because it always does.  I thought that I could just date your father for fun, but it got away from me before I knew it."  Helen sighed. She still had unresolved feelings about her relationship with her husband.

"Was that so terrible?  You're still married."  Daria didn't understand what her mother was saying.

"No, it's not terrible, but it was harder than it had to be.  I wish I had met your father after I graduated from law school.  So many things would have been different.  You have no idea what kind of stress we were under.  Two young children and your father's terrible job.  Your father made sacrifices for us that you can't even imagine."

"Is that why you support him now?"

"If you mean financially, yes, but it's more than that.  Your father lost a part of himself taking care of all of us.  He had issues and problems that he needed to deal with, and he couldn't.  We just piled it on him. He was too busy taking care of us to take care of himself."  She thought for a few moments. "I haven't really appreciated him until recently.  I love your father, but he needed more from me than just love."

"More than love?"  Daria wasn't comfortable with love as a concept.  To her knowledge, she had never been in love.  Her idea was that it would hit her one-day that she was in love and somehow it would make everything work out.

"He needed understanding, patience, things that I didn't know how to give him.  For years we went to retreats and seminars; we tried everything.  It was all crap.  Now I let him be who he is.  He's happier and I'm happy.  I just want _you _to be happy.  Trent is a wonderful guy, but I know he's not headed where you're headed."

Daria shrugged.  "So?  It's not like I'm going to marry him."

"That's my point, it's that kind of thinking that will land you in trouble.  You think that you can regulate your feelings.  Daria, you can't control a relationship!  Love doesn't have a thermostat."  Helen poured more wine into her and Daria's glass.

"You're scaring me.  This is Trent.  He's a nice guy, he likes me.  There's no more to it than that."  Daria forked a piece of steak.

"Just remember that we had a conversation about this when you're living together in a commune somewhere."  

"That will never happen."

"That's what I said.  Six months with an outhouse and no running water."

"I'll remember Mom." 

Helen hadn't quite given up, she knew she had made an impression, but the weekend wasn't over yet.

***

"So this is where you work, huh?" Jake looked around the pub as Trent showed him to a table at the back.

"Yeah, it's not bad.  We're here Sunday through Thursday."  Trent waved at the bartender, "Pitcher of Sam Adams."

Dave nodded, filled one up and walked over to the table. "Hey Trent.  You want something to eat?"

"Yeah, this is Daria's Dad, Mr. Morgendorffer."  Trent made the formal introduction. 

"Call me Jake.  Do you make your hamburgers rare?"  Jake looked over the limited menu.

"I can get Paul to do that, but it's risky man.  If you want rare meat, have a steak."

"I had my heart set on a burger!"  Jake pouted.

"It's your funeral. Usual Trent?"  Dave walked back to the kitchen to place their lunch order. 

"So Trent, you and Daria are...close?"

"No.  It's pretty much like she said.  I was hanging out because of the fumigation."

Jesse came down from their apartment over the bar for ice.  "Trent!  What are you doing here?  We don't have a gig tonight do we?  Rayna's giving me a pedicure."

"No man.  You remember Daria's _Dad_?"  Trent tried to hint, but Jesse wasn't catching it. 

"Oh hey, yeah.  How's it hanging?"  Jesse extended his hand, clutching an ice bucket stolen from a Marriott a decade ago. 

"Low and lazy!  So Jesse, when's the apartment going to be habitable?"

Trent closed his eyes. Jesse was dumb as a bag of hammers.

"Huh?"  He looked to Trent.  "Um, it's great.  Want to see it?"

"Maybe later.  Good to see you!"

"Yeah, me too."  Jesse glanced once more at Trent.

"So Trent, you and Daria are close?"  Jake scooped up some peanuts in a bowl and cracked the shells while waiting for his meal.

"Yeah, but not as close as I'd like.  No disrespect."  Trent didn't know how to handle Jake.  He seemed pretty mellow right now, but he could get intense in a hurry.

"Hey, I married her mother, I know what you're going through.  I've got to warn you though, whatever you do, DON'T GIVE UP YOUR DREAM!"  He grasped a handful of nuts and squeezed, sending the paper-thin shells all over the table.

"What?"  Trent tried to edge away from Jake's tantrum.

"I know what you're thinking.  You'll date Daria for a while, maybe live together.  One day she'll talk about going to law school and you have to make a decision.  Sure, you're happy on a farm, kicking back and living off the land, but _oh no_!  She's got to fulfill herself.  She's got to stand up for women _everywhere_. The next thing you know, you're working for Lucifer himself selling pharmaceuticals in some dump of a town in Texas.  You've got two little kids who trust you to bring home the bacon and a widowed mother who makes you feel guilty every minute of every day for not living next door to her in Levittown.  Your dream? Gone!  Your life?  Gone!  The only thing you live for is your family, and they think you're a screw up!  One day you wake up and the kids are gone; it's just you and your wife.  Where's _your_ dream? Where's _your_ turn?"  Jake sat back exhausted.  "Hey?  You going to finish that?"  Trent nodded no as Jake poured the last of the pitcher into his mug.  

"So what was your dream?"  Trent asked, trying to gain insight into Jake Morgendorffer.

"I don't remember," he squeaked.

"Let's get another pitcher."  Trent held up the empty and Dave came over with a refill. 

After they finished lunch Jake asked for a tour. Trent took him up to the apartment.  They went up a narrow flight of stairs that started by the kitchen door and went up to the second story.  The wood floors shone as they walked into the living room.  The furniture looked well worn, but it was clean.  Off the living room there was a bathroom and two bedrooms.  A kitchen had been added recently to the large living area.  

"Hey, this isn't bad."  Jake admired the place.  It was a bachelor pad, but it was comfortable.  He had experienced much worse on the commune.

"Yeah, it's okay." Trent decided not to even try to pretend that he needed to be at Daria's.

"I'll say.  You've got a great commute!" Jake ribbed Trent.

"Huh?"  He had to think about it. "Oh.  Right.  Good one."  He laughed politely.

"I'm so wound up.  Helen was just yammering at me on the flight this morning.  We must have left the house at dawn.  'Jake, did you remember your license?  Jake, did you pack your underwear?  Jake, where's your toothbrush.' I love her but she goes on and on and on.  She doesn't trust me to take care of the simplest things.  'Yes, dear.  Yes, dear. YES, DEAR!"  Jake had worked himself into a froth again.

Jesse looked at him from the sofa.  "Dude, you need to mellow out."  He reached over to the cable spool that served as a coffee table and grabbed a glass bong.  He lighted it and took a toke.  The slurping noises were humorous, as was the face he made as he inhaled the moist smoke. 

"Hey, neat bong!"

"You know about bongs?"  Trent had a new respect for Jake. 

"Sure, I had one shaped like a Hobbit when I was at Middleton!", said Jake, nearly clapping with delight.

Trent's respect took a nosedive. 

"Want some?"  Jesse held out the instrument.

"Jess, I don't think that's cool." Trent gave him a _look._

Jake took it tenderly in his hands and without warning took a massive bong hit.  His eyes flew open and then closed as the seductive smoke worked its way into his lungs. "Oh, yeah!" he chirped.

"Woah," said Trent.

"Hey," said Jesse.

Jake held out the bong to Trent.

"I never touch the stuff man." Trent sat down, it was going to be a long afternoon.

***

Helen helped Daria put away the laundry.  They made the beds.  Cleaning up kept them busy in the same room without conversation.  Daria thought about what Helen had said.  She could not imagine that she would be like Helen and that Trent would be like Jake.  They were completely different than her parents.  

Daria amused herself by thinking about what it would be like to _be _with Trent.  She was comfortable with him when they went out to eat, or when they went to the market or when they did any number of mundane errands around the neighborhood.  Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew that people assumed that they were a couple.  But what if they were a couple?  Would she have to be nicer to him?  And then there was sex.

The whole reason nothing had happened before now was sex.  Daria had never had sex and she was pretty sure Trent had had plenty.  Daria wasn't sure that she was ready.  It was daunting enough when she considered sleeping with Tom, at least he was a virgin too.  If she made love with Trent it would be one of the biggest moments of her life.  There was no avoiding it.  Would it mess up their friendship?  Did they even have a friendship?  Were they already a couple, but just refusing to acknowledge it?  This whole thing was so confusing, and Helen was just muddying the waters with her regrets.  

Daria thought about Helen and Jake.  They were her parents and her role models.  Was she thinking about Trent as her boyfriend because he and Jake were similar?  Daria had never really thought too much about her Dad.  He was just the freak in the living room, drinking a martini and cursing his fate.  Sure, she loved Jake, but she never really thought of him as a person.  After lunch Daria thought about what Jake would rather be doing, how his life would have been different if he hadn't married Helen while they were still in college.  '_Yeah, he'd be malnourished, filthy and high as a kite_.'  Daria smiled at the thought. Jake might have missed out on some opportunities, but in the end, he got the best possible deal.  Daria mused on what Trent's regrets might be.  What if they were married?  She'd be doing whatever it was that she was in college to learn.  He'd be with the band, maybe playing weddings and bar mitzvahs.  In ten years would it be cool?  In ten years would he still be satisfied?  If Trent had to settle, like Jake had settled, what would he settle for?  

"Penny for your thoughts."  Helen intruded on her interlude. 

"Just thinking about...life."  Daria took the last of the towels and put them in the storage unit in the bathroom.  

"That's good.  You should think about it. Daria, I hate to ask, you're such a private person, but I really feel that we should discuss this.  What do you plan to do for birth control?"  Helen stood in the doorway.

Daria dropped a basket filled with soap and shampoo.  "Mom!  What?"  

"I'm serious.  If it's not Trent it's going to be someone else.  You should think about it now, not in the heat of the moment."  

"I can't believe that you said 'heat of the moment.'  How about I cross that bridge when I come to it?  Besides, shouldn't you just be leaving me a twelve pack of Trojans?  They protect against STD's the best."  She picked up the bottles and put them back in their container, desperately avoiding eye contact.

"Oh Daria, be serious.  Condoms are fine, as far as they go, but if you get into a serious relationship, you're going to want to have something else.  Personally I like the Pill, although I had plenty of girlfriends who liked diaphragms.  Have you talked with your gynecologist about it?"

"I don't even _have _a gynecologist.  Where is this coming from?  I'm not even _with_ anyone."  
  


"Yet.  Get yourself in for an annual exam; it's about time you started to think about it anyway.  While you're there, have a chat about what method of birth control will be the best for you.  Oh, and get Trent into a clinic for a blood test.  I'm sure he's fine, but you can't be too careful."

"You could suck the romance out of champagne and roses."  Daria flopped on the sofa, her face burning with embarrassment.  

"It's not romantic to get a disease.  It's not romantic to deal with an unplanned pregnancy.  It's not romantic to worry until your period comes.  Trust me.  Be prepared."

"Okay, I'll make an appointment.  Can we drop the subject now and talk about something less mortifying?" Daria flipped through a magazine, pretending to be engrossed in black, thong, pantyliners. Actually, it was such a bizarre product that she was engrossed. 

"I just want you to be safe and happy Daria."  

"Did you have a discussion like this with Quinn?"

"Yes."  
  


"When?"

"About three years ago."

Daria sighed. "Fabulous." 

***

Trent drove Jake's rental car back to Raft.  Jake was still under the influence.  He seemed serene, he smiled and kept time with the music, conducting with his index finger.  Trent had seen one side of Jake during the hurricane, macho, commanding and completely insane with testosterone.  Trent peeked at him out of the corner of his eye.  He seemed happy.  Trent had never seen Jake happy.  He hoped that Jake wouldn't say anything stupid to ruin the mood.

A drizzle started to fall and Trent felt nostalgic for manly company.  He loved the guys in the band, but there was something about a brother.  His own brother Wind had been a disappointment.  Just when Trent became old enough to appreciate what an older brother was all about, Wind had left home to marry a Las Vegas magician's assistant.  Trent sought male companionship from his father, but Vincent was never around long enough to take an interest, let alone form a bond.  Trent forgot about all the times that Vincent wasn't there.  He wondered if Jane felt the same way about Mom.  That's why he stayed at home so long.  He worried about Jane being alone.  Trent couldn't stand the thought of being alone.

Jake hummed along with Fossil Rock, the only station that Trent thought that they might have in common.  "You know Trent, I'm serious about following your dream."

"Okay, Mr. Morgendorffer."  Trent turned onto the old, cobblestone road that lead up to Raft.

"NO!"  Jake yelled, startling Trent.  "I mean it.  Love is wonderful and a good woman is more precious than rubies, but I'm serious.  Don't sell out like I did.  Don't give up.  Don't forget who you are.  One day you'll wake up with a family and responsibilities and you won't have time to consider who you are.  I love my wife, I love my daughters, I wouldn't trade them for anything, I just wish I knew who I was.  Boy, that would be perfect."  Jake rolled down the window and let the cool spring air in; he hung his head out like a Labrador; the rush of wind blowing back his still full head of hair. "Oh yeah!  This is what it's about.  Hanging out with the dudes, smoking a bowl and sticking it to The Man!"

Trent smiled and rolled his eyes.  "Whatever you say Jake."  But Trent  knew 'in spliff veritas.'  It was amazing how pot could give a guy like Jake twenty extra IQ points. 

***

Helen and Jake made a point of spending time with both Daria and Trent together.  Daria enjoyed seeing her parents, but it seemed that 36 hours felt like 36 days to her, especially since what she needed was time alone with Trent.  She chuckled and entertained another revenge fantasy.  This time Quinn was covered in honey and placed on a lawn in the Deep South.  "Fire ants."  

"What sweetie?"  Helen inquired as she checked one more time for their airline tickets.

"Nothing." Daria smiled. 

"Jake, your remembered everything from the room, right?  You've got your ID, right?"  She frantically fumbled through their baggage until she was satisfied that it was all there.  

Jake stood at the trunk, waiting for the okay from Helen to close it. He hugged Daria one last time.  "You're doing a great job kiddo.  I'm really proud of you."  He kissed her again, slipped her fifty dollars, slammed the trunk and bounded into the driver's seat.  

"Remember what I said Trent!"  He waved, through the open window.  

Trent nodded and waved back.  Daria stood next to him waving as well.  

Jake and Helen could be heard through the open window as they pulled away from the curb.   
  
"Jake, what on earth is that?  You _can't _be serious.  Absolutely not!"  Helen insisted.

"Come on honey, you don't have to inhale!  I can shotgun you!"  The car swerved a bit, went down to the end of the drive and turned in the direction of the airport.

Daria laughed. "Please tell me you didn't give my Dad pot."

"No.  He managed to find it on his own."  Trent reached over to put his arm around her.

"I hope that they didn't freak you out too badly."  Daria thought it seemed to be the right thing to say.

"No, I'm pretty freaky already.  Let's go inside.  I really want a nap." He took her hand and escorted her to their room.  "We can talk later.  I think we both need some quiet time."

Daria nodded.  She didn't speak another word. 


	10. Spring Broke

**Spring Broke**

**By Ruthless Bunny **

Jane lazily reached for the remote.  Daria was napping on the bed; Jane had draped herself on the chair, a typical Sunday at BFAC.  It was the quietest time of the week, late Sunday afternoon, people sleeping off their heavy hangover breakfasts on a gray day.  Jane surfed for a while, the cable wasn't the greatest, but at least they had it.  She let it rest on MTV.  There were commercials and promos for all the non-music oriented programming on Music Television.  A bunch of bikini bimbos popped up and started talking about the MTV Spring Break House in Daytona.  

_Spring break_, thought Jane, _We've got to make plans for Spring Break._ "Daria, wake up, we have to do something about Spring Break."  Jane nudged her friend with her foot.

"Wha?  Huh?"  Daria jerked awake.  

"What are we doing for Spring Break?"  Jane rooted around on the floor for the Travel section of the Globe.

"Sleeping?"  Daria was still a bit fuzzy, she was catching up on much needed sleep.

"No.  Remember, we need to do something really great for Spring Break."  Jane flipped through the section, which was mostly cruise packages and European tours.

"I thought that was your department."  Daria sat up and reached for her soda, which had warmed somewhat since she conked out an hour earlier.  

"Okay, well I'm taking care of it now.  Guatemala?"  Jane was narrowing down her search.

"How much?"  Daria stretched and extended her sock covered feet.

"Fifteen hundred."  Jane said it matter-of-factly.

"Seems a bit steep.  How much do you have?"  Daria knew that Jane wasn't rolling in dough.

"I've saved about five hundred from my work-study job."  

"I've got about the same amount from my tutoring.  Unless we can get to Guatemala on Greyhound, I'm afraid we'll have to settle for something closer to home."  Daria walked over to the sink to splash water on her face.

"I thought you'd say that.  No chance you'd slap it on your plastic?"  Jane poured over the description in the paper.  "Beach huts!"  She pointed to a picture.

"No.  I prefer to live.  Besides, we can't leave the country without passports."  Daria observed.

"Right.  Passports.  Mine expired about four years ago."  Jane smiled, remembering the passport picture of her as a toddler.

"And I don't have one.  What's your next suggestion?"  Daria peered over Jane's shoulder.

"Daytona?"  

"You're high."

"Washington, D.C.?"

"More expensive than Guatemala." 

Jane balled up the newspaper in frustration. "Damn!  Why don't we have money like all of the other kids?"

"Because our parents aren't Texas Millionaires."  Daria gazed out of the window onto the empty quad below.

"What's a Texas Millionaire?"  Jane looked up from the floor.

"A guy living on credit and $36,000 per year salary.  I think that you know where we'll be spending our vacation."  The same place they spent their previous Spring Break vacations.

"Don't say it, it's too depressing."

***

When Daria got back to her room later that evening, Trent was watching The Simpsons.  

"Hey Daria, have a nice time with Jane?",  Trent asked as he dipped into a carton of Chubby Hubby. 

"Yeah, it was pretty good."  Daria set down her duffle and flopped on her bed.

"Whatja do?" He turned the sound down on Homer ranting about cookies.

"Pizza, party and sleeping."  Daria fluffed her pillows up and got comfortable. 

"Perfect."  He smiled, thinking that such simple things were so special to her.

"It was actually.  The party wasn't like some dumb kegger.  The people there were interesting.  I met a girl who worked on a big welded sculpture in Chicago last year.  I had no idea the amount of engineering that goes into a big art work like that."  

"Sounds cool.  Oh, Gayle came by, she wants to know if you can help her with her paper for Econ."  He read a note off of his hand. 

"I'll get with her later, right now I just want to veg.  Oh, we came to the conclusion that we won't be doing anything good for Spring Break."  

"Spring Break?"

"You know, that week in April where everyone in the city goes on vacation somewhere?"

"Is it mandatory?"

"It pretty much is--they close the dorms."  She waited to see his reaction.  She had to leave, and so did he.  Where would he go?  Would he admit anything?

"I guess I'll have to stay with the guys."  

Daria was disappointed.  She expected it to be a bigger deal, but here he was admitting it like it was a known fact.  "Yeah."

"So where are you and Jane going?"

"Home."  She sighed as she said it. 

"Bummer."  He figured as annoying as it was to be with the band, anything would be better than going home.

***

Everyone in the Morgendorffer family met Daria and Jane at the airport.  Even Quinn came out to meet them.  It was determined that Jane would be staying with the Morgendorffer's since the census at Jane's house was so high.  

There was chatter about this and that in the car on the way home.  Quinn's Spring Break was just ending, so she was talking about going back to school, graduation, prom, grad night and all sorts of events that concerned popular people in high school.  

Daria and Jane said very little as the car drove on familiar streets.  Every once in a while they saw something changed.  A new strip mall, a field cleared for construction, evidence that nothing stays the same, even in your hometown.  Daria tried to conjure a Proustian feeling of remembrance but all she felt was ennui.  Jane was likewise silent during the drive to Daria's house.  It was overwhelmingly depressing to be home.

Jake carried the heaviest of bags upstairs to 'Daria's' room.  The girls followed as Helen's monologue rang in their ears.  "I just want you girls to know that we are so happy that you're here!  Oh Daria, I hope you won't be upset, but since you've moved out..." Helen's voice tapered off as Jake opened the door to Daria's former bedroom.

The padded walls and handrails were gone.  The last vestiges of the barred windows had been removed.  In their place were two twin beds and a country casual theme.  The room looked like a true guest room.  No objects of ownership cluttered the space.  A large wardrobe and matching dresser, both empty except for an extra blanket.  In the closet a dozen or so plastic hangers stood ready to receive the clothing of any visitor.  A low bookcase contained best selling novels.  There was no evidence that the Morgendorffers had an oldest daughter or that she had taste that wildly differed from that of an HGTV weekend project.

"Isn't it GREAT?  I helped pick out the bedding!"  Quinn excitedly pointed out.  "When I leave Mom is converting my old room into a library/office!"

Daria hadn't quite come to terms with the fact that 'her' room wasn't really 'hers' anymore.  She hadn't come to terms with the fact that in a few months that Quinn would be out of the house and in the same city with her.  She hadn't come to terms with many, many things.  Trent came to mind and was as quickly driven back out again.  She glanced from the beds to the window treatments, over to the dressers and then to end tables holding milk pail lamps.  While not her taste, Daria had to admit that the room was charming.  

"It's just like the Hilton."  

It was the best that Daria could do.

Helen smiled. "I'm so glad you like it.  I was worried.  I hope you girls will be comfortable up here. We'll give you a chance to settle in.  Come down in a bit, we're going out for steak."  Helen opened a window to let in some fresh, cool air.  The faint smell of new paint and lavender mixed with the breeze.    

Jane looked at Daria.  "Alice doesn't live here anymore."

Daria's eyes rested on the wreaths over the beds.  "Oh God.  No one lives here.  It just _screams _temporary."

"That's what you want isn't it?"  Jane tipped her duffle bag and let the contents of it fall into the deep, bottom drawer of the dresser. 

"Well yes, it's not like I plan to come back here to live after I graduate."

"Perish the thought."

"I just didn't expect that every surface in the place would be scrubbed free of my contamination."

"It wasn't really you anyway.  It was the crazy old lady."  Jane sat on one of the beds and opened an Architectural Digest.  

Daria sighed.  It was too much change for her to accept in so short a period of time.  "First the National Bank of Lawndale was taken over by Wachovia, then the Moo Time Corral was sold to Outback Steakhouse and now my room has been converted into Veronica Lodge's boudoir.  It's a bit much to accept."

"At least your room isn't housing your oldest sister and her twenty year-old husband.  At least your brother's room isn't being used as a warehouse for syrup jugs.  At least you _can _come home."  Jane flipped the pages and concentrated deeply on a room decorated around a skylight.  

"Point taken.  We both have reasons to be depressed.  Where's the mini-bar?  Don't they usually stock those things with Toblerone?"  

"It's not that bad.  It's comfortable; I'll bet we're the first people to sleep in these beds."

Daria glared at her friend, "When did you get to be so optimistic?"

"That's me, Happy Jane, friend to all!" She threw the magazine on the nightstand.  "Let's go downstairs and get a soda.  Your folks usually have stuff in the fridge."

"The upside of living with working people."  Daria took one last look around, in an effort to convince herself that she wasn't living a nightmare. 

"Yeah, artists are only _too_ willing to starve for their art." 

"_Meow!"_ A Siamese screamed at the girls.  

"Gah!"  Daria cried in surprise.  

"Daria, when did you guys get a cat?"  Jane reached down to pet the kitty, who while haughty in appearance was quite affectionate.

"We have a cat?"  Daria considered the creature winding its way around her legs.  "QUINN!"

"Joyce!  Bad kitty."  Quinn picked her up and nuzzled her face.  "This is Joyce!  She's my cat."

"Mom let you have a cat?" 

"_Let,_ isn't exactly the word I would use to describe how Joyce came to live with me, but it will do.  Yes, Helen has let me have a cat!"  

"Her name is Joyce?"  Jane asked, interested in her background.

"Yes, the lady who was giving away the kittens, her name was Joyce.  Every time someone said her name, this one here," another nuzzle, "would respond.  We figured that she thought her name was Joyce, so that's her name.  _Isn't it_?"  Quinn asked the cat rhetorically.  

"All of a sudden Mom's letting us have pets?  I thought she said we weren't responsible enough."  Daria said with the wounded pride of a sister without a cat.

"Sheesh Daria.  I think my bank account speaks to my responsibility.  Besides, how could you say no to this _face_?"  Nuzzle, nuzzle. Joyce purred in contentment and did her best imitation of Faron, the boneless cat from Peanuts.

"Daria, it is a really cute cat."  Jane scratched Joyce's ears and the cat's eyes closed in bliss.

"That is _so_ not the point."  Daria huffed downstairs, but halfway down could not think of anything to say to her parents that wouldn't sound infantile, so she opted instead to inventory the refrigerator.   

Jane came up behind her.  "Wow, your Mom thinks of everything.  Peanut butter _and_ jelly."

Daria opened the freezer, expecting to see stacks and stacks of frozen lasagna, but  instead there were dozens of packets wrapped in white butcher paper.  "What the hell?"   

"It looks like someone bought a side of beef."  Jane reached tenderly into the frost and retrieved a flat packet labeled, 'minute steaks.'  "Oh wow.  I've heard about this, but I never knew anyone who had done it."  

Jake ambled into the room.  "Oh hey, girls.  Checking out Buster?"

"Buster?"  Daria asked.

"Yeah, the name of the steer that died to feed us!  One of my golf buddies and I went in on him.  He got a deal on the Internet!  We've been eating a bit of Buster for a while now!  I finally get the rare burgers I crave!"  Jakes eyes glazed over as he visited the land of burgers.  

"Since when is actual cooking going on in this kitchen?"  Daria demanded.

"Shoot Daria, I always liked to cook!  Besides I couldn't stand to see another box of that crappy lasagna.  Damn convenience foods, with all that fat and sodium!!!"  Jake started to spiral out on one of his rages, but he reined it in.  "So I bought Buster instead.  He came with a dozen chickens and a bunch of frozen veggies.  The rest of him is out in the freezer in the garage!"

"We have a freezer in the garage?"  Daria's head swam.  So much had changed in so little time.

"Yeah!  Neat, huh?"  Jake closed the door.  "But tonight we'll go to Outback --  I just love their salads!"

"Are you ready to go?  We should call ahead so we don't have to wait."  Helen picked up the phone and dialed, it seemed as if she were talking to an old friend.  "Stephanie, it's Helen.  Yes, the girls are here with us so it's five of us tonight!  No smoking.  Is Chrissy working tonight?  Great, if you can slide us into her section that would be great!  Bye-ee!"  Helen hung up.  "She can take care of us if we get there in the next twenty minutes.  "Quinn!  Are you ready?"

Quinn appeared at the kitchen door.  "Sure, let's go."

Daria and Jane ate like they were going to the electric chair.  The food at school was usually greasy and unappetizing.  Between dining hall fair and pizza, the girls were ripe for something simple and good.  Quinn brought back part of her salmon for Joyce and Helen had most of her sirloin.  Other than that, there were no leftovers.  The evening ended after watching some movies.

Daria and Jane lay in their beds.  Jane was content.  She ate meat and was sleeping in a house that contained no children to bother her with their pranks.  As they drifted off to sleep a faint scratching could be heard at the door.

"MEOW!"  Yelled Joyce. "MEOW! MEOW! MEOW!"

"What the hell is that?" asked Jane. 

"I'd guess it was Joyce.  Helen is usually more direct,"  answered Daria.

Jane got out of bed and Joyce came into the room swishing her tail.  She jumped up onto the bed and gave Daria an affronted look.  "MEOW!"

"What's your problem?" asked Daria as the cat kneaded the bedclothes.

"MEOW!", Joyce replied.

Daria stared into two glowing eyes, "You don't really have much to say for yourself. Let's take you back to your Mom."  She scooped up the Siamese and padded down the hall.  She squeezed slightly and the cat protested.

"MEOW!", complained Joyce.

"Daria?  What are you doing to Joyce?"  Quinn reached out for her cat.

"She wants something.  I don't speak her language.  You figure it out.  I'm going back to bed."  Daria moved to go back to her room.

"Oh I know!  You're in her bed."  Quinn advised her sister.

"What?  I'm in _her _bed?"  Daria said incredulously.

"That's where she usually sleeps.  Don't worry, I'll keep her in here with me."  Quinn took her cat to bed with her, with the cat bitching the entire time.  "Hush you!"  Quinn admonished. 

Daria shook her head, "There's no place like home.  Too bad I don't have one anymore."

***

Daria and Jane didn't do much.  There was no homework, no responsibilities so they devised a television schedule.  They primarily sat around the house, waiting for it to be time to go back to school.  It was strange being at home, but with none of the obligations of home.  No cleaning to do.  No shopping.  No place one had to be.  Helen was being indulgent, with baked goods and ice cream offered at short intervals.  The girls snacked a little, but after the first couple of days, they lost interest.

One morning Daria was up very early, she smelled something cooking in the kitchen.  During the week it was rare that anything went on in the kitchen other than coffee, so she investigated.  Helen was standing at the cook-top frying an egg.  "What are you doing?" 

"Good morning to you, too.  I'm making an egg for Joyce."  Helen explained as the cat waited expectantly.

"You are making an egg for the cat—_on a school day_?"  Daria was shocked.  "You never cooked breakfast for _us _during the week." 

Helen smiled down at Joyce, "That's because you didn't need an egg.  It keeps her coat nice."  Helen cut the egg up into small pieces and blew on them to cool them, before putting the plate on the floor.  

"I'm in the Bizarro world."  Daria shook her head and grabbed a Pop-Tart.  "I'll just take my usual breakfast and eat in the living room."  

"Don't make crumbs!" Helen called to her.  

Daria muttered something under her breath.

***

Jane was watching Spring Break programming on MTV.  There was a hole in their schedule between 'The Price is Right' and the court shows.  Daria had gone to read e-mail when she heard Jane yell from the living room. 

"Daria!!  Come here, you won't believe it!  Run!" Jane sat on the edge of the sofa boosting the sound.  

"What??!!"  Daria panted as Jane pointed helplessly at the television.  "Oh...My...God!  Is that Brittany?"  There could be no doubt; it was Brittany.

"So then we all got into our cars and we drove down here!  Go Great Prairie State!!!!"  Brittany cheered, wearing a bikini in her new school colors, green and orange.  The other cheerleaders chimed in with her.  

The host looked on appreciatively.  "Well Brittany, we're mighty glad that you and your team did that."  The crowd roared their approval as Brittany jiggled for the camera.  "You want to stick around while Boys R Guys performs?" 

"Oh wow, that would be dreamy."  She breathed.

"She's got a Marilyn Monroe quality, doesn't she?"  Jane asked.

"More like Marilyn Munster.  You wanted to go to Daytona?"  Daria reminded her.

"Thank you so much for changing my mind.  Even Lawndale is better than that."  Jane pointed at the cheerleaders building a pyramid while a boy band lip-synched their latest hit. 

"Right.  Are we under house arrest?"  

"Not unless you've committed a felony."

"Then let's commit one.  I can't take much more of this." Daria got the keys to Helen's Jeep and they drove onto the main drag.

The problem with suburbs is that there are only so many places to drive around.  Daria took them around the perimeter of the town.  They saw more signs of development.  

Daria indicated a new office building going up, "Hmm, it says Thompson Construction, I guess Kevin's dad is really getting some new contracts.  Isn't that the third sign we've seen today?"

"Yeah, I guess.  I haven't been paying that much attention."  Jane perched her feet on the airbag and turned up the radio.  

"You've lived here your whole life, what do you think of all the changes?"  

"It doesn't seem like that big a deal to me. When we moved here, our house was in the heart of the neighborhood, and the neighborhood was considered the boondocks.  I remember that we had to drive about twenty minutes just to go to the store.  Trent and I used to walk to the gas station to buy candy on the sly.  Route 217 wasn't always a freeway; it used to be a two-lane highway.  We could ride our bikes across it.  Then Singleton Industries re-located their headquarters here, bringing with them a bunch of their suppliers and Lawndale went from rustic burg to suburb while I took a nap.  Lawndale has always changed.  Why are you so freaked out?"

Daria shrugged, "I wish I knew.  We moved around while we were little.  It's not like I have a specific place to call home.  We lived in Texas for a while, in Arizona, all over the Southwest.  I don't have any roots to speak of."

Jane changed the station. "So then what goes on here shouldn't phase you."

"It doesn't really, but I never really lived anywhere long enough for changes to make a material difference in the way the place looked.  It's not like a big company was going to move to Highland.  Not unless the refinery exploded again."  Daria turned into the Cluster Burger parking lot.  "I'm thirsty.  Melancholy makes me thirsty."

"I could go for a soda." Jane agreed.

They walked across the parking lot, and through the glass door.  There was a smell of mop water and grease permeating the air.  "Be careful!"  A tenor voice shouted from behind the counter.

"That's a familiar voice."  Daria noted.  

"Just a minute, I spilled a bunch of ketchups."  The voice informed them.

"Oh wait, no, it can't be, he's still in school.  Right?"  Jane said.

"Uh...I almost forgot, welcome to Cluster Burger, home of the giant Cluster...Damn!  I know I know it, wait, I've got it, welcome to Cluster Burger, home of the giant Cluster Burger Barrel!!"  Kevin's head poked up over the counter, but he was talking to vapor.

The tires squealed as Daria peeled out of the parking lot.  "That was close."

Jane shuddered.  "I can't imagine how that conversation would have gone."

"That's the point, it wouldn't have been a conversation; it would have been a bunch of awkward sentence fragments held together by pauses."  Daria looked around.  "Let's just drive through McDonalds."

They continued to drive around town, avoiding routes that took them near the high school.  

"Daria, lets check out Wal-Mart, I need a couple of things there anyway."  Jane pointed to the new Super-Center that was recently erected opposite Cranberry Commons.  

Daria pulled in and they went into the store.  Jane enjoyed shopping and grabbed a cart.  

"Do we need that?"  Daria asked.

"You never know."  Jane said mystically as they headed over to the clothing department.  

They checked out some stuff, Daria found some jeans; Jane got some tops.  They both bought new underwear.  Typical Wal-Mart purchases.  

"Daria, those aren't white cotton."  Jane said as she checked out Daria's choice. "Those are tiger stripped, giraffe spotted and leopard.  What's up?"

"I needed something to go with my beige bras."  She offered by way of an explanation.

"Right.  Okay.  What's with the teddy?"  

"Mind your own business."  They argued with each other good-naturedly when Charlene Thompson came up on Daria's blind side.

"Daria?  How are you?"  Mrs. Thompson asked.

"Huh? Oh hi, Mrs. Thompson."  Daria said politely.  

"Your Mom is such a hoot!  You should have heard her last week at our luncheon, she was going on and on about how well you are doing up at Raft.  She is so proud of you!"

"Uh, yeah, thanks, that's nice."  Daria never knew how to handle these situations.

Mrs. Thompson sighed, "Kevin!  I just don't know what to do with him.  He dropped out you know."

Daria shook her head.  Jane had retreated into the Men's ties selection, trying to avoid notice until Charlene moved on.  Daria was trying to get her attention, she needed rescue.  "Oh?  What's he doing now?"

"He's trying to get his GED and working at Cluster Burger." She shook her head, "I wish he had paid more attention in school.  He was never Einstein, but I find it hard to believe that Brittany is off at school while Kevin is asking people if they want fries with their order."  

Daria nodded; there was nothing polite that she had to say.

"I wish he had spent more time with you.  I remember when you did that project with him.  He used to go on and on about how smart you were.  You would have made a much better girlfriend for him.  You would have inspired him.  Now look at him, working for minimum wage and still living with us."  She seemed to have gone off into her own little world.  Daria could see the wheels turning in her mind.  "That's not a bad idea..."

Jane finally came back, holding up a tie with Scooby-Doo on it.  "Daria, isn't this great, don't you think that Trent will love it?"  

"Jane, you remember Mrs. Thompson, Kevin's Mom, don't you?"  Daria introduced them.

"Hello Jane.  Well, I'll let you girls get on with your shopping, Daria, tell your Mom I said hi."

"Okay Mrs. Thompson."  Daria sagged against the cart as she tooled off towards household textiles.  

"Ouch, that looked ugly." 

"She suggested that Kevin should have been my boyfriend."

It took Jane ten minutes to get over the hiccoughs from that one.

They got back in the truck and headed home.

"Daria, drive by my house, I should at least stop in and say hi."  Jane asked.

As they pulled down Howard drive they could see a disturbance on the lawn at the Lane House.  Two figures were locked in mortal combat, Summer and Amanda were trying to pull them apart amidst much screaming.  The large metal sculpture had been knocked over and one of the cats was yowling on the roof.  "Keep going," Jane said as she slid down in the seat, lest she be seen.  

***

Friday night at the Zon.  Daria, Jane and...Quinn.  It started out innocently enough, Daria and Jane dying for something to do, the odd part was that Quinn wanted to tag along.

"But don't you have a date?  A party?  A sleepover with the Fashion Club?"  Daria enumerated Quinn's choices.

"What Fashion Club?  There is no Fashion Club anymore!"

"You know what I mean," said Daria.

"I could do any of that stuff, but I hardly ever get to do anything with you."  Quinn explained.

"Who are you?" Jane asked, feeling Quinn's forehead.

"Is it so weird that I would want to spend time with my sister?"  Quinn was using a scrunchie to arrange her hair.

"Yes." Daria answered.  "So what's really going on?"  Daria and Jane sat on Quinn's pink canopy bed.

Quinn turned away from the mirror.  "I can't stand the Fashion Club!  Sandi is such a bitch, Tiffany is an airhead and while I like Stacy, I can't stand that clingy, dependant thing she does.  I try to avoid them when I can.  As for dates, let's face it, who could I date in high school that is even remotely in my class?  Not to sound like a snob, but I bought my own BMW, with money that I earned.  What guy at Lawndale High is on my wavelength anymore?  My business takes up most of my time, I do a few social things, enough so that I'll have a date for the prom, but beyond that...I have no interest.  I can't wait to graduate so I can move on with my life."  

"Thank you Leona Helmsley."  Daria quipped.

"I am not the Queen of Mean!", Quinn said, ignoring Daria's shock at not having to explain the comment, "Really, do you see me discussing eggplant versus violet nail polish anymore?"  
  


"No," Daria admitted, "but they have been your friends for three years now."  

"So?"  Quinn strapped on her sandals, "It's not like they have been supportive!  I first suggested the scrunchie business as a post-Fashion Club project. Sandi dumped all over it and said it was stupid.  Tiffany supported Sandi in public, but then did her usual two-faced thing and said she wanted to help in private.  Stacy agreed with me at first, but when Sandi gave her the hairy eyeball she changed her mind.  As far as I'm concerned, I'll enjoy my success and the three of them can shop at the Gap together."  She put the finishing touches on her face, "Okay, lets go!"

Quinn drove them in her car.  Daria had to admit that it was very nice.  Instead of feeling envious of Quinn's success she was proud of her.  Daria might have been envious if Quinn had what Daria wanted, but Daria was perfectly happy with her life as it was.  Quinn was doing something she enjoyed and made an indecent pile of money doing it.  Try as she might, Daria could not find a bad feeling for Quinn.

Dino, the bouncer stamped everyone's hand.  "Daria! Jane!  Long time no see!"  He gave them bear hugs, causing Daria to be lifted a foot off of the ground.  "How's Trent?"  He asked Jane.

"Pretty good, Mystik Spiral is the house band at a pub."  Jane gave him the Reader's Digest version.

"Solid.  How're you doing?"

"School's good, can't wait to get back."  She answered honestly.

"Wow, I can't believe that you guys are gone.  Place seems empty without you."

Daria knew what he meant.  It wasn't that they were missed, per se; it's just that unless she actually lived in it, Lawndale was just a destination.  She pitied her parents.  

Dino opened the door for them and indicated to the bartender that the first round was on him.  "Have fun!" 

"Thanks Dino."  Jane patted him on the arm.

The band that was on the bill that night was still setting up, the bar was empty, but would be packed within the hour.  The girls headed over to the bar for sodas.

"You ever been here before?" Jane asked Quinn.

"I've been everywhere in Lawndale."  She answered, sipping her club soda.

They chit chatted and greeted people they hadn't seen since Christmas.  Jamie came over when he saw Quinn.  "Hey Quinn, where've you been, I haven't seen you at any of the parties."

"I've been around."  Quinn said enigmatically, tossing her hair back so that it could catch what little light there was.

"Uh-huh.  Sandi said that you had something stuck in you."  He seemed puzzled to see Quinn with her sister instead of with the other girls.

"I can't imagine what she meant, but I'm fine.  Jamie, you remember my sister Daria and my friend Jane, right?"  She introduced the girls to him.

"Didn't you teach my English class?"  He asked Daria.

"Yes."  Daria wanted to be away, far away from this conversation.

"So I haven't seen you around school much, you been sick?"  

Daria rolled her eyes as Jane laughed.  "Something like that."

"Quinn, do you have a date for the prom yet?"  The sound check had started, so he had to yell over the noise.

"No, but I'm not sure I plan to go."  
  


"Oh, well if you want to go, call me, I'd love to be your date!"

"I certainly will keep that in mind."  Quinn adjusted her skirt and indicated that she wanted another soda.

"Great!  Oh, I've got to get back to Wendy!  Bye!"  He waved as he walked backwards, running into the soundboard before getting back to his date. 

"Oh brother.  If going to the prom means having one of them take me, then forget it!"

"You should do what we did, we had an anti-prom."  Jane offered.

Quinn rolled her eyes.  "I just thought you couldn't get dates."  

"No," Daria filled her in, "We decided that we didn't want any part of the spend-a-thon that the prom represented.  We took the money we would have spent on the prom and went to a hotel for the weekend.  We watched pay-per-view movies and ordered pizzas.  It was MUCH better than the prom."

"Much," agreed Jane.

"That's a thought.  I went last year with Jeffy, and that's as much prom I need.  The dress was stupid, getting my hair and make up done for one night out was stupid.  We went to Chez Pierre and after all of that money he spent, he thought he was going to get lucky.  Please.  I spent money too.  Besides, what is a guy like Jeffy going to do for me?  Like he knows something."  She finished her second soda and began chewing the ice.

"I could follow that up, but what might come next frightens me."  Jane said, eating one of the cherries out of the garnish bin.  

"I used to think that guys were a gauge of how cute I was.  I'd go out and do the movie, burger, backseat thing with them, but after a while I just didn't want to spend my time doing that.  I got them to take me to nice places, but then they thought that I owed them something.  Do I _look_ like a prostitute?  Let me rephrase that, do I look like a _cheap _prostitute?  It became a game with me, how much could I string the guys along for?  Presents?  Trips?  Then I thought about it.  What did it make me if I thought that a guy was only good for spending money on me?  Now, I only go out with interesting guys!  I'm not sitting through any more evenings with guys trying to explain their sport to me, just because he's buying dinner! Forget it!  Oh, hi Brian!!"  She smiled at the bass player in the band.  

"Hi Quinn!  Can I ask you something?" 

"Sure, this is my sister Daria and my friend Jane.  Guys, this is my friend Brian."  She introduced them quickly.  "I'll be right back."   She went to the corner near the restrooms to talk to Brian.

"So that's why we're here together.  Quinn is dating a dude in a band."  Jane smiled. "It runs in the family."

"You need to shut up now." Daria reminded her.

"You going to make me?"  Jane challenged.

"If I have to."

"No.  I'll stop now.  Frankly, I'm all out of sarcastic comments."

"Me too, let's just watch the band."  

***

Daria and Jane surveyed their luggage.  Daria went through all the rooms and drawers to make sure she wasn't leaving anything behind.

"You know that's very Freudian.  If you leave something behind, it means you want to come back."  Jane sat on the bed waiting for Daria to finish her check.

"Right, look in the nightstand one more time for me."

Finally they were ready to go.  Everyone came along to say goodbye.  "Daria, I'm going to come up in May for a special orientation, be sure to line up some parties for me!"  Quinn said as they checked in with the skycaps.

"Okay, I'll start looking now."  Daria made sure that the tags were affixed to her duffel properly.

"Thank you so much for a great time Mr. and Mrs. Morgendorffer." Jane said as she was similarly occupied.

"Oh, it was our pleasure, I'm so glad you choose to come home instead of doing something else with your friends!"  Helen gushed.

"When you come back this summer, you know we've got lots of Buster to barbecue!"  Jake added.

"Come back this summer?"  Daria hadn't even considered what she was doing for the summer.  She smiled at Jake.  "Great!"

"I love you kiddo!" He hugged her and gave her money.

"Good-bye guys, have a great flight!" Quinn hugged the girls.

They walked into the airport, as the family got back into the car.  They didn't pull away from the curb until they were well inside.

***

Trent met them at Logan and they drove Jane to BFAC before heading over to the dorm.  

"How was Lawndale?"  Trent asked, greedily breathing in her familiar smell.

"Boring. How was your week?"  Daria settled into the front seat and smiled, she loved being at school and she loved being with Trent.

"Jesse got a new bong."  Trent coughed.

"Fabulous."


	11. Free Parking

**Free Parking**

**By Ruthless Bunny**

When Daria came back to the room one spring evening she saw Trent pondering a yellow piece of paper.  

"Hey Daria," he said, not even glancing up as he tried to decipher its meaning.

"Hey Trent, what's that?"  She indicated the paper.

"I think it's a parking ticket."  He handed it to her for her opinion.

"Hmm, twenty-four dollars for illegal parking on university property. Yep, that's a parking ticket.  Where were you parked?"  She handed it back to him.

"The Scratchy lot, you know the one closest to the Multi-Cultural Center."  He folded it up and put it in his wallet.

There were two vacant lots near Daria's dorm.  They had once contained decrepit buildings that had been demolished, ostensibly for new construction projects, although many years had passed with no perceptible progress towards these projects.  The two lots were affectionately referred to as the Itchy lot and the Scratchy lot by the students.  

"Since when are they ticketing in the vacant lots?"  Daria wondered, her sweater was slightly too warm for the weather, so she pulled it off over her head.  

"I didn't get one yesterday.  I found this one when I went to the store.  I got some more shampoo.  We were running out."  Trent indicated some purchases piled up on the bed in the other room.

"Great, thanks."  Daria studied the pile.  

"No problem.  Bummer about this ticket."  He sat back on the sofa and leafed through a free newspaper.

Daria thought for a moment.  She had been thinking about whether or not to do it.  She was still fighting the fact that she and Trent were living together; she was still fighting a lot of facts.  In Daria's world logic usually won out over emotional confusion however, so she made a proposal. "Trent, this is silly.  You live here; you should have the right to park here.  Why don't you give me twenty dollars and I'll get you a resident sticker for your car so that you can park in the dorm lot?"

"Daria, that wouldn't be right."  He shook his head.

"Why?"  

"What if they find out?  You might get in trouble or something.  I don't think we should risk it."  He studied his _horrorscope_, a regular feature of the paper that spoofed conventional horoscopes.

"What trouble could I be in?  My RA already knows.  A lot of people have..." she searched for the word, "_alternative_ living arrangements.  I don't think it's that big a deal."  

"All the same, I'd rather not.  Maybe this is just a one-time thing, a new university cop with something to prove."  

"A university cop with something to prove?  What is that, a trailer from a movie?  He's tough, he's strict, he's got a golf cart and pepper spray, he's _University Cop_!"  Daria quipped.  

"I'll figure something out."  Trent assured her.

In the subsequent week Trent received six more parking tickets.  

***

**Tired of Parking Tickets????**

**Meeting at the Multi-Cultural Center, room 129**

**7:00 PM, TONIGHT!!!!**

Daria noted the sign and having her evening free, decided to attend the meeting to see what it was all about.

At dusk Daria walked across the street to the Multi-Cultural Center.  She noticed that the lot directly outside of the building had a minimum of available parking spaces, half of which were reserved for employees in the building.  The structure was new, although austere.  There was no excessive decoration on the exterior of the edifice, but the interior was another story.  The building housed GALA--the Gay And Lesbian Association, the Black Student Union, Allegria--the Hispanic student organization, the International Students office and a number of smaller clubs designed to serve a diverse student population.  Consequently there were works of art from all over the world.  African masks decorated a soffit above the reception desk.  Guatemalan cloth sculptures hung from the walls.  A giant stuffed llama stood guard over the water fountain.  It was colorful and unique.

Daria found room 129, a ubiquitous conference room, equipped with a long conference table and a large number of rolling chairs.  

"Come on in!  There's a sign in sheet going around.  I'm Chad Winston, I'm the student government representative."

"Hi." Daria said, nodding at him as she sat down.  The guy looked like a Ken doll come to life.  When she dated Tom she had met a few of his friends, and many of them had a resemblance to Chad. 

After about ten minutes of people streaming into the room, it was mostly full.  Chad decided to bring the meeting to order.  

"I think we all know why we're here.  The administration has begun cracking down on parking in the Itchy and Scratchy lots.  Now, I am a representative of both the student body and of the administration.  As your representative I met with the chancellor of parking and she assures me that the university is aware of the parking situation and that they have every intention of addressing the issue."  He smiled at everyone and sat down.

A scruffy looking guy stood up, although standing up didn't really make much of a difference in his stature, "I'm David Stuart, and I'm sure they're aware of the situation, they're _giving_ the tickets.  What we want to know is why!"  

Chad smiled again, "Dave, I'm sure there's a very good reason for it.  Those lots are university property, and they may dispose of them in any way they wish."

"David, my name is David.  What are we supposed to do?  Where should we park?"  David's blood pressure was visibly rising.

"Well _David_, you can purchase a parking decal for a nominal fee and park in any university sanctioned lot."  Chad had an answer for everything.

"I have a university decal, there are 1500 rooms in my dorm and 200 parking spaces.  The Itchy lot took the overflow."  

"I understand your concern and I'll be sure to relay that information to the chancellor at our next meeting.  Does anyone else have a question or a concern?"  Chad scanned the room.  He nodded at an African-American man.

"I'm Antoine Petithomme, I'm the president of the Black Student Union and I'd like to point out that this enforcement of the parking restrictions on these lots has only been in force since the Multi-Cultural Center became fully occupied.  I'm sure that it's purely unintentional, but it does have an odd appearance.  It seems as though the administration is imposing a hardship on those students wishing to use the services offered in the Multi-Cultural Center."

"That's just a coincidence."  Chad said dismissively.

"But you must admit that it doesn't look good."  Antoine persisted.

Chad shrugged away the issue, "Look I get your point, you're trying to make this some kind of discrimination issue; I assure you that it's not."  

"I'm telling you that it _is_ de facto discrimination, whether or not it's intentional.  The fact is that the Black Student Union has over 300 members, yet there is parking here at the building for only 68, thirty of those spaces are for employees in the building.  At the optimum, there are only thirty or so usable spaces for our members, and that's assuming that every other space is vacant when we choose to hold our meeting."

"That's about right, the university's figures are that only ten percent of the enrolled students have cars here on campus."  Chad was beginning to get smug; he certainly had his ducks in a row regarding his facts.

"If that's true, and I seriously doubt that it is, then why is it that the lots adjacent to this building are full of cars?  I'm suggesting here that even if your statistic is correct, that the spaces provided for the students are not where the students need them, specifically here at the Multi-Cultural Center."  Antoine sat down, clearly indicating that he wished no more dialog with Chad.

"I'm sure that this isn't a racial issue..." Chad said, ignoring Antoine's heavy sigh, "are there any other views we haven't heard?"

Daria thought about it and raised her hand. "You know, Antoine isn't just making noise, he's got a point.  My concern is about the number of spaces allotted to the residence halls.  It's no secret that many of the spaces there now are taken up by people with improper permits.  We need temporary visitor lots so that residents can park lawfully.  I know many people park in the Scratchy lot when they can't find a place in the dorm lot."  

Chad nodded sympathetically. "I see your point, so you're advocating more rigid enforcement of lawful parking at the dorms."

Daria interrupted him, "No, what I'm saying is that we need more parking and contingent parking.  People do visit each other.  When it's cold they like to drive, rather than freeze to death walking to a study group.  We need clearly delineated parking for visitors at the dorms, as well as enforcement of the existing parking rules."

"Uh-huh," Chip made a big show of writing down Daria's suggestion, and chose another raised hand.  Daria got the impression that he just drew a picture of Spunky, instead of recording her points. 

"I'm Paul Norton. I understand that this is Boston and that parking is always going to be a problem, but you have to admit that the sudden enforcement of this rule has surprised many of us.  Perhaps the university should have warned us before starting the ticketing process.  Is there anyway that an amnesty could be granted?  We get the idea now that the lots are off limits."

"That's a good point, I'll see what I can do."  Chad's head nodded in agreement with Paul and he smiled broadly. "I think I've got quite a few things to discuss at my meeting with the chancellor, lets set a date for the next meeting so that I can report back to you on our progress."

The meeting ended with a decision to return in a week, there was a vague promise that the university administration might be in attendance.  Daria walked back to the dorms feeling as though she was not heard.  _Screw this, I can go back to Lawndale if I want to be ignored_, she thought.

***

"Trent, it was a joke.  This guy Chad just smoothed over everything.  This guy with the BSU made a valid point about how there weren't enough spaces at the Multi-Cultural Center to accommodate the activities that go on there, and he blew him off.  My suggestion about adding visitor parking just went over his head.  It was so frustrating."  Daria discussed the meeting with Trent the next afternoon. 

"Daria, I think you're taking this too much to heart.  I'm sure that your idea was taken into account.  Maybe it was the way you said it.  Sometimes you can sound...."

"Bitchy?"  Daria glared at him.

"Strident." Trent finished.

"Unless simultaneously stating my opinion and possessing a uterus is _strident_, then, no I don't think so.  Besides, it shouldn't matter how it sounds, I had something to say and he didn't want to hear it.  It doesn't affect me.  Let the people who have a problem with it deal with it.  I'm through."  Daria angrily opened a book.  

"I don't know, I think you should go back.  Maybe they took your suggestion into account, you should give them a chance to do the right thing."  Trent said reasonably.

"Why don't you go?  You're the one who parks there, not me.  It's your issue, not mine."  Daria tried to end the conversation.  _Why do I even care, I'm not getting parking tickets_, she thought. 

"But I don't go to the university.  I'd be like some intruder or something.  I think that they deserve a chance, lets go together."  Trent bargained. 

"How can you do that?  Don't you have to be at work?"  She was angry with him at being so calm about how she was treated. 

"I'll go in late, no big deal.  The guys can play some recorded music for an hour."  He tried to rub her shoulders but she shrugged off his efforts. 

"Fine, now can I do my bio homework?"  Why was it that Trent thought that it was the way she presented her argument, instead of the same story, that people just didn't want to hear it.  Didn't Trent know her after nearly four years?  Didn't he trust that she knew when to argue for something?  Didn't he trust her to know _how _to argue for something? 

"Yeah."  Trent, clueless as ever, turned on the news as Daria stared at the words on the page for thirty minutes without absorbing a single one.  

***

The next meeting was packed.  In the intervening week a record number of tickets were issued.  The joke on campus was that the overnight charge for parking had gone up to twenty-four dollars.  It spoke volumes about how badly the area needed the parking spaces.  

Chad convened the meeting and opened with a statement.  "I have some good news that arises from the feedback we got at the last meeting.  First of all, the administration is willing to give amnesty to anyone who received tickets in the past two weeks, as long as they don't park in the lots any more."  A cheer went up among those who had racked up serious charges in fines.  "Secondly, I have the official reason for why the lots are off limits," the room became hushed as Chad continued, "the university will be constructing two parking garages on those properties.  They recognize that there is a need for expanded parking and they are filling it."  He paused for another round of cheering, but was rewarded with a moderate amount of clapping.  "Isn't that great?  There's going to be more parking."

Daria raised her hand, "That is good, but what are we going to do in the meantime?"  She tried to make it sound as positive as possible, but still wanted to preserve her point. 

Choruses of "yeah" and "right" echoed around the room. Chad looked befuddled.  "Rome wasn't built in a day.  They're doing the best that they can."  It was the first time that Chad seemed to be without an answer.

Antoine added his opinion, "It seems very convenient that the university is just now getting around to building these structures.  We've needed additional parking for years.  Again, I'm not accusing anyone of anything, but it makes it extremely difficult for people to use the services provided at the Multi-Cultural Center.  What does the administration intend to do about that in the interim?"  

"Antoine, I know that you've got to look out for your interests, but the university has the interest of all the students in mind with this plan.  Can't we compromise on this?  All we need is patience, in a couple of years this problem will be non-existent."

"It seems to me that historically, we've been asked to wait for everything we have a right to.  I suggest that unless the university can make an arrangement for us at the Multi-Cultural Center that we will take our side of the argument to the press and let the battle be fought in the arena of public opinion."  Antoine barely suppressed his rage; he seemed to have experience with dealing with bureaucrats like Chad.  

"Look, we're all on the same team.  We all want what's best for Raft. Would causing a big, racial issue be worth whatever you personally might gain from it?"  Chad made an effort to smooth over the issue, and in fact provoked Antoine further.

"Why is it that when I want something, I'm trying to get preferential treatment and when you want something it's for the good of the team?  I am merely stating facts.  We have a population that is currently being underserved due to poor university planning.  We will not be ignored!"  Antoine sat down to cheers from the other groups affiliated with the Multi-Cultural Center.

"JUST BECAUSE WE'RE QUEER, YOU CAN'T DENY WE'RE HERE!" Chanted the contingent from GALA.  

Chad had produced a gavel and pounded it on the table, trying to restore order.  "QUIET!" The room settled down to a murmur.  "Okay, does anyone have anything _positive_ to contribute?"

Daria again raised her hand.  "Two years is a long time to wait, and I don't know of any construction project that was on time.  We need an alternative, like a shuttle or something."  Perhaps offering a specific solution to the problem was the way to go. 

Chad's exasperation grew, "I know it's going to take two years, there's nothing we can do to change that."

Trent saw that the meeting was becoming counter-productive, "Hey, we were able to get amnesty on the tickets, that's a start, maybe the shuttle idea is the way to go.  They can get some of those trams, like they have at amusement parks, to take groups of people to different spots on the campus.  Think about how much parking there is by the sports arena.  It goes unused except during games because it's so far away.  If there were a tram that you could take to and from the arena, then we could make use of that. Also, the tram could bring people from other places on campus to the Multi-Cultural Center, so that the parking situation wouldn't be such a big issue."  Chad appeared to perk up at Trent's suggestion, he liked it when people offered concrete solutions. 

"That's a great idea!  I'll definitely suggest it to the chancellor." Chad said enthusiastically, "That would benefit everyone all over campus."  The mood in the room became celebratory as the idea was further discussed.

Trent turned to Daria to say something but she had already left, following her brain which had left fifteen minutes earlier.  As Daria walked across the small parking lot, Antoine drove up to her and rolled down the window.  "I liked what you had to say, and for what it's worth, I know that you were the one with the good idea."

"Thanks, but since I'm an invisible person, do you really think you should be seen talking to me?  People might think you're crazy."

"People already think I'm crazy. Besides, I'm the original Invisible Man."  Antoine and Daria shared a smile at the appropriateness of the reference.

"Hey, maybe they're on to something."  Daria offered.

"Yeah, maybe."  Antoine said and he waved as he drove off.

***

Trent went straight to work from the meeting, so he didn't get a chance to see Daria until the next day.

"How come you didn't stay for the whole meeting?"  He asked as he bit at the snack cakes she brought for their afternoon snack.

"Why?  You seemed to have it well in hand."  Daria used her infuser to heat up water for her tea.

"But it was your idea."  

"So?  It didn't really seem to _be_ an idea until you mentioned it."  She dipped the bag in the water with agitation. 

"Yeah," he admitted.

"It doesn't matter.  Here, I got something for you."  She handed him an envelope.

"What's this?" He opened it up.

"A parking decal."  With that she buried herself in her bio homework. 


	12. Behind the Music

**Behind The Music**

**By Ruthless Bunny**

They didn't have band practice anymore.  Unless you called their job at the pub practice.  They figured that five nights a week was enough playing for anyone, especially them.  Trent packed up his guitar and put it in the car for the ride home.  It was a pleasant evening; cool, but with a tinge of warmth that heralded spring.  April _was_ the cruelest month. It was only two months away from summer vacation, he had to do something soon.  Trent had been thinking about where his relationship, if he could honestly call it that, with Daria was headed.  What he suspected and what he knew were two different things.  They had been tangling with each other for months now and while there were "moments" here and there, nothing had been acknowledged.

Trent thought that he might be in love with Daria.  He had never had feelings for a woman, unless he was in an overt relationship.  He wasn't in love unless he was a boyfriend.  How could he love his friend?  How could he love his sister's friend?  How could he even entertain the idea when they hadn't even kissed?  

He knew why he hadn't done anything about it.  Daria and Jane had made their way back to friendship through a long process.  Jane's trust had to be earned back.  Daria had to be comfortable with what she was feeling.  Trent had watched it all unfold, explode, implode and coalesce.   He lurked on the edges of their friendship; waiting for the right time to...and here he had to admit to himself that what he wanted to do was take his sister's friend away from her.  Again.  So he didn't.

Trent orbited Daria.  He admired her from afar.  Everyday he would learn something new about her and he would feel everything in his chest expand.  She liked the color pink; she wore pink socks under her boots.  He thought it was appropriate.  Soft, girly pink, concealed by her hard, military boots.  A soft, feminine woman, hardened by experience.  Her perfume was light and fresh.  He had no idea she ever wore any, but living with her, he discovered that she sprayed it on before she went to bed.  For sweet dreams?  For him?  He knew that she had grown tired of Cannibal Frag-Fest, that horrible video game.  She used to play for hours when she lived at home, but he noticed that she took it off of her laptop to make way for something else; he didn't know exactly what.  He discovered that she liked English muffins.  He made sure that they always had some in the room.  He knew what her favorite books were. There was a small, well-worn collection that she had brought with her from home.  One of them was Alice in Wonderland. The inscription inside was from her Aunt Amy, "Mama said there'd be days like this."  He still smiled at that.  

It wasn't all pleasant; Trent had also discovered her other habits.  Her bras were not the lace confections that he had hoped that they would be.  In fact, there wasn't anything more utilitarian than Daria's bras.  They didn't inspire fantasies, unless it was the fantasy of throwing them away and buying her something nice looking.  Daria got gas if she drank too much milk.  Bad gas.  Sometimes when Daria was in the bathroom for awhile; she'd make these noises...like she had really accomplished something.  He didn't know if she knew how loud she was, and he definitely wasn't going to be the one to tell her.   He wasn't even sure if it was number one or number two, and he didn't want to know.   But even these things made him smile.  It also made him wonder what stuff that he did might gross her out.  

Daria came back to the room at around five; her usual time.  She knocked on the door and he opened it to see her struggling with her backpack and a large box.  He took the box off of her hands.  

"Fan mail from some flounder?"  Trent asked, not using the Bullwinkle voice. 

"Huh?"  Daria didn't get it; she wasn't really into Bullwinkle.

"Never mind. So what did your mom send this time?"  Trent stood poised over the box with his Scooby-Doo pen knife.

"Open it and see, I've got to pee."  She went into the bathroom and he cringed. 

Trent tore into the box and turned up the volume on the TV.  He prowled through the box, but it was packed with green grass and newspaper.  He found every kind of Easter candy imaginable, including his favorite, Peeps.  At the bottom of the box was an incredibly large chocolate bunny, easily over a pound of chocolate.

"Oh, man!"  He breathed in the thick bittersweet smell.  "This couldn't be real, it's too big."

"What is?" Daria asked as she saw Trent gazing lovingly into the box.

"This," he hoisted it out as if it were a prize.

"MINE!" Daria pounced on him.  She unwrapped it and immediately broke off the head and took a big bite.

Trent was crushed.  He liked to start with the feet.  "Why'd you do that?"

"The brains are the best part."  She said through a mouthful of chocolate.

"Okay.  I'm going to be over...here."  He backed away from her as she savagely tore into the spoils.  He sifted through the box gathering aged pieces of The Lawndale Shopper to entertain himself until Daria's feral moment passed.  He read an old Dear Abby and mentally solved the Jumble.  The Lawndale Shopper was not known for its journalistic integrity, which is why Trent liked it.  The Boston Globe was serious and deep.  The Shopper was just some syndicated stuff held together with the Police Blotter.  He dug around the box some more, hoping that there was more than a day's worth of paper, when he saw a picture of someone familiar.  

The headline read, **FOUL PLAY RULED OUT IN LOCAL MAN'S DEATH**.  The odd thing was that it wasn't a fuzzy picture of a stranger; it was of his friend Don Hodges.  Trent felt sick as he read the story.  Apparently they found Don dead on the floor after he had fallen into a diabetic coma.  There weren't any more details than that.  No wife to mourn him.  Nothing really remarkable about Don. Just a guy who liked to play guitar and smoke a bit now and then.  

***

Trent and Jesse came out of the movie stoked.  

"Man, we should form a band too.  That would be rad." Trent said, brushing his curly hair out of his eyes again for the fiftieth time in an hour.  

"We could call it something cool like Wyld Stallyns, only not." Jesse agreed, wishing he had more than the blond buzz cut that his dad made him wear.  He wanted to push his hair out of his eyes too; the girls thought it was cool. 

"Too bad they already used a cool name.  We have to get a cool name too."  Trent thought as they walked through the mall to wait for Jesse's mom to pick them up. 

They both played a little air guitar while they waited outside Cashman's for the mini-van to pull up.  

"Oh man.  If we want to have a band, we'll have to learn how to play guitar." Trent said as they got into the van where Danny, Jesse's younger brother was sleeping, exhausted from soccer.  

"Hey mom, can I get guitar lessons?"  Jesse asked, silently debating if he should "accidentally" give Danny a purple nurple.

His mom looked at him in the rear view mirror, partly to insure her younger son's safety and partly because she could not believe that Jesse requested access to an activity that involved motion and brain cells.  "Let me talk to your dad.  I think we already have a guitar in the basement."

"Gnarly."  He high-fived Trent.

"I can just borrow Penny's guitar.  It's not like she's going to want it for anything."  Trent sat back.  He and his buddy were going to be in a band. 

Jesse's mom had found Don through someone they knew from church, although Don didn't go to church.  She dropped the boys off in front of the little house a couple of streets east of Dega Street.  A stained glass window was recessed into a thick, carved oak door.  They waved as the door opened and Don invited them inside.

"You must be Jesse and Trent, come on in." He said, sizing them both up.  

"What's that smell?" Jesse asked, as he sank into a papa san chair.  

"I think it's incense." Trent explained, having smelled that smell from Wind's room and Penny's room from time to time.

"Yeah," Don agreed, "Well, let's get started."  That afternoon, Mystik Spiral was born, although even then, they were having trouble with the name.

Jesse and Trent spent Wednesday afternoon with Don.  They'd learn some chords, practice fingering and Don would tell them stories about how he was once with a famous band as a rhythm guitarist.  Don had a great life, from what the boys could see.  The house, though small, was comfortable.  There was cable television.  Don appeared to eat well, if the burger wrappers and pizza boxes were any indication.  Don lived to play the guitar.  He had a beautiful old Martin with a wonderful, solid, but elegant sound.  After their lesson, Don would play to them and tell them about life on the road.  

Years passed and although Trent still paid twenty bucks a lesson, he enjoyed spending the time with Don and Jesse.  The three of them would take different parts and jam.  It was after a particularly great afternoon that Don offered them a bowl to smoke and some words of wisdom.  Or it seemed like wisdom at the time.  

"You know, if you really love to play, then you need to find a way to do it for a living.  Some of the luckiest guys I know have a regular gig somewhere on weekends.  They might be accountants during the week, but they play for a living.  If you get what I mean."  He sat back on the couch and thought about what he was teaching these boys.

"We're going to have a band, and it's going to be great.  We're going to sell out stadiums."  Jesse did a bit of intricate air guitar, since he wasn't proficient enough to do it for real, yet.

"Well, just be sure you don't sell out your music.  I'm not talking about some pretentious 'artists vision' or anything like that.  What I mean is always love playing.  If you're playing to get paid, and that's the only reason, then forget it.  It will be worse than punching a clock at Seven-Eleven."  He inhaled deeply, trying to suck up the sweet, heavy smoke that hung in the room.  "Yeah, this is the best."  

Trent smiled and coughed.  He half closed his eyes and saw himself with Jesse and some other guys and they were jamming.  It probably sounded like Nirvana in his head, but to him it was Mystik Spiral.  His band.  

"Don't get lost in the dream."  Don said. Right before he got up to see if there were any Oreos in the kitchen.  

A few months later, Don met with the boys for the last time.  "You guys already know everything I know.  I don't have anything left to teach you...on the guitar.  What you need to do is start playing in public.  You'll suck, but it's good to suck, it's the only way you can get better."

"But we want to keep coming here.  We'll pay."  Jesse said, sad at the thought that his afternoons with his mentor were ending. 

"It's not about the money.  It's time.  Go out, do what you do."  He waved his hand towards them to dismiss them, but it looked like a papal benediction.  

Trent nodded.  "Okay man.  We'll go.  Just do this one thing.  Come see us some time."  

They all embraced, and Don agreed to come see Mystik Spiral, or whatever they decided to call their band, at some time in the future.  

***

Trent thought about that on the way to work.  He decided to leave early.  He wanted to tell Jesse about Don.  He wanted to share a moment with the only guy who would understand what he was feeling.  Don had never seen them play.  He never knew how good they were.  

When he got to the pub, Jesse was talking with Dave at the bar.  "Hey Trent."  
  


"Hey Jesse.  Uh, I've got some bad news."  He produced the newspaper and showed Jesse the article.

"Bummer.  That's not how I thought he'd go." Jesse shook his head, his hair swishing as he moved.

"How'd you think he'd go?"  Trent thought that people in his past were frozen in time.  He had never known of anyone to die. In his mind they were all in a waiting room, ready to show up at the supermarket or the gas station for a quick hello before going back to whatever it was that they did between meetings with him.  

"I don't know.  House fire I guess."  Jesse sipped his beer.

"Gruesome."  

"Well, you know..." He left it unsaid.

"Either way, he was alone." Trent glossed over the image. "I wonder if that's the way he wanted it."

"Must have.  It wasn't like he couldn't have had a girl...or a guy...or whatever...if he wanted."  Jesse contemplated his beer. 

"Yeah.  I guess.  Jess, how do you see us?  You know, the band?"  Trent stretched.  He had a kink in his neck he just couldn't get rid of.

Jesse shrugged.  "We're good.  We've got steady work, a roof over our heads and we've never had to flip a burger we weren't going to eat.  It could be worse.  A lot worse."

"Maybe that's what he meant.  Maybe we're supposed to be content with what we're doing today.  What if this is it?  What if we never get a record deal?"  Trent's thoughts were racing.

"So what?  We're twenty-four years old and we've never worked a day in our life."  

"We work.  We work _here_."  Trent indicated the pub, in all its glory. 

"No Man, we _play_ the pub."  He smiled.

Trent smiled; he got it.  They played for a living.  "Don gave us one hell of a gift didn't he?"

"Yeah. Not bad for twenty bucks a week."  
  


"We need to give him a wake.  We should get knee-walking stoned or something.  In his honor."  Trent thought out loud.  

"Maybe we should have a private memorial ceremony."  Jesse got Trent a beer.

"No, a wake is better.  We'll invite the other guys and tell them all about Don.  Friday night, after Karaoke Happy Hour."  

"Sounds good.  I'll be sure to stock up."  Jesse got up from the stool.  "I need another shower.  See you in a few minutes." He went upstairs as Trent began to set up for their set.  

***

Trent was hoping that walking would clear his head.  The wake had been great.  As the evening progressed Jesse and Trent took turns telling stories about Don.  They told everything that they remembered. Even stuff they only knew second hand from him. For all they knew most of it was lies, but it didn't matter.  Don was a figure of mythic proportions. Don the guitar guru.  Don the life master.  What may have looked pathetic to some, was heroic to them.  The evening was a success, but Trent couldn't sit still.

He walked two miles towards the campus.  The one thing that became apparent to Trent was that there were no assurances in life.  You never know what's around the corner.  What if he died suddenly and everything was left unsaid?  What if she didn't know how much he loved her?  What if for some reason she thought he was around for convenience?  What started out as a way to get fresh air had turned urgent.  He HAD to tell her what he felt.  She needed to know.  As he got to the campus, the wind was rustling in the trees.  There was a bite to the air and he pulled his pea coat around him and walked faster.  He was oblivious to the cold, but not to the fact that the night was so clear.  He would remember this feeling forever.  He was going to tell her.  He smiled and tried to fly to her.  He approached the dorm and he thought he saw her standing in the quad with that hockey guy.  He knew she saw him now and then, but she looked so serious with him.  She had a look in her eyes that he hadn't seen before.  He stopped and watched for a minute.  Trying to see what was going on.  He watched as she kissed him.  It wasn't just an affectionate buss, but a flat out passion filled kiss.  When did he miss that?  When did he stop paying attention?  The guy turned and walked away and she stayed highlighted in the street lamp.  

Trent walked up to her.  Now telling her was more important than ever.  Everything was changing.  His world would never be the same, and he had to say it or else he was going to explode.  

She waited until her lover was out of view before she turned and headed into the dorm. He had to catch her before she went in. 

"Jane!  Wait! I love you!  I have to tell you that I love you!"   


	13. I Declare

**I Declare**

**Ruthless Bunny**

"Trent!  Have you lost your mind?  You nearly took five years off of me."  Jane screamed as her brother hugged her close.

"Jane, I love you.  I wanted you to know."  Trent closed his eyes and thought about how much the two of them had been through together, how much they meant to each other.

"I love you too, but I'm not running around like some nut screaming it from the rooftops."  Jane tried to disengage, but Trent wasn't quite finished.

"You don't understand.  What if I'm not around for some reason?  What if something happened and I didn't tell you?"  He let her go and sat on a bench, patting it to indicate that Jane should sit down too.

"Then you'd haunt me?"  Jane sat, still perplexed with her apparently insane relative.

"Yeah."  Trent entertained the notion for a moment before continuing. "No.  That's just it.  I don't want it to be unsaid.  We're not big on demonstrations of affection in our family..."

"We're not big on demonstrations of attention in our family."  Jane agreed.

"So that's why you need to know.  I'm here because I love you.  I look after you because I love you.  I'm probably going to be looking at that guy in a whole different light because I love you."  He nudged her.  "So what's up with that?"  

"Joe?  He's nice," Jane smiled; she wasn't a blusher.

"Seems like it.  Serious?"  

Jane paused before answering, "Serious enough."  

"Uh-huh.  You tell Daria?"  Trent asked.

"We're not talking about relationships with each other these days."  Jane shivered and indicated that they should continue their conversation in the lounge of her dorm.

"Why not?"  Trent walked with Jane into the brick building.  

Jane shrugged, "Probably because she doesn't want to think about _anyone's_ relationship."

"What's that got to do with it?"

"Simple.  If I have a relationship with Joe, then she has a relationship with you.  She's not ready to confront that, so for now we just tiptoe around the whole issue.  We have our fixed evenings together and I see Joe when I see Joe."  Jane laid it out for him.

"So she has a relationship with me, but she won't admit it?"

"Doesn't she?  Don't you?  Trent, as long as you're running around like Scrooge on Christmas day, telling people that you love them, don't you think she should be next on the list?"

"I was going to start with Mom and Dad and work my way through the siblings first."  Trent stared at the linoleum.

"So you plan on avoiding the issue for years?" Jane took off her sweater and settled into the sofa.

Trent sighed.  The clarity he gained walking over to BFAC disappeared and in its place came the familiar confusion.  He shook his head in response.

"So go for it."  Jane rubbed his shoulder.  

"What if she runs for the hills?"  He sat back and stared up at the ceiling tiles.

"Chase her."  

***

Daria woke early, she didn't expect to see Trent, she knew he was planning to have a big night and assumed that he'd be staying with the band.  Trent was irresponsible, but he wasn't dumb enough to drive under the influence.

Her plan for the day was to organize the room, clear out all end of the term clutter, and lay out a plan to study for her finals.  Now that she had established a 4.0 G.P.A. she felt obligated, nearly to obsession to carry it through.  Daria went around the room picking up the laundry.  Some hers, some Trent's.  She waked it down the hall to the washers and got that going.  As she tidied up she realized that there were only a few weeks before the end of the year.  The dorms would close, and she would be going...and that was the hard part.  She'd be going home.  To Lawndale.  Except Lawndale wasn't home anymore.  It was where her parents lived.  

The thought of spending three months in Lawndale was oppressive, but what would she do in Boston?  Where would she live?  _How_ would she live?  The list of things she refused to think about was growing longer by the day.  She wasn't thinking about her relationship.  She wasn't thinking about Jane's relationship.  She wasn't thinking about going home.  Her focus, at least in the here and now was cleaning the room and exams.  

Four hours went by.  The laundry was folded.  The room was immaculate except for a semi-circle of piles of papers.  Daria re-read everything she wrote in the past school year.  Even to her critical eye, she saw how good it was.  It occurred too her that she needed to go to the office supply store to get some storage folders or binders or something.  It wasn't the papers so much that she wanted to keep.  They were safely preserved on her disk drive her zip disks.  It was the notes the professors had written.  "Very astute observations", "extraordinary analysis", "you make words dance."  Each note reminded her that the work she was doing was solid.  Raft professors were not in the habit of indiscriminate praise, rather they were on the look out for talent, and Daria wanted to preserve the evidence that she had the talent.  She was still in her PJs, thinking about dashing out to Office Depot for an organizer when Trent came in.  

"Hey Daria."  He looked around.  The place seemed emptier.  "Cleaning?"

"Yes.  I want to get organized.  We've only got a few more weeks..." She trailed off, she didn't want to say it; it might make him say something.

"About that...you know Daria, as of June, you and I are homeless."  He let it sit there.

"I'm not homeless per se," Daria explained, "let's just say I don't like my home options."

"Any way you look at it, if we're staying here this summer, we're going to have to find new digs."  He watched as she avoided looking at him by gathering up her paperwork. 

"Stay here?  Why would I stay here?"  Even as she said it, she knew how it would sound.

"I can think of a reason."  He sat in the chair waiting for her to stop.

"Oh?"  She stopped and looked at him.  She thought he might have an idea, perhaps a job or something.  The other thought she had was slightly terrifying.  If he was about to propose a romantic entanglement, she didn't know how she would handle it.

"Come on Daria, I've been living here since January, didn't you wonder why I never moved back into the pub?"  He realized that they were going into terra incognita. 

"No.  I've actually been to your apartment."  She did what she always did in these situations; she hoped that the sarcasm would head off a genuine emotion. 

"That's not the reason.  I've slept in the basement.  I'm not picky about housing.  But I am picky about who I want to be with.  I want to be with you."  He exhaled deeply.  As though it took all the breath in his body to say it.

"Uh-huh." Daria stalled for time. "Trent.  I like you a lot, but right now I'm so overloaded that to even contemplate what you might be trying to say is just too much right now.  Can't we talk about this later?"  She implored him with her eyes.  She looked like one of those anime heroines.  All eyes and cheeks.  

"That's what I thought a couple of days ago.  That I could just wait until you were ready, or until I was ready or something.  Daria, people die everyday leaving stuff unsaid.  I just don't think I can wait anymore.  Even if you don't want to say it, I will. Daria, uh...uh...not to freak you out or anything...but...I love you."

"Eep!" It was too late; Daria was freaked out.  

"Is that a yes or a no?"

"What was the question?" Daria's IQ began to fall. 

"Do you love me?"  Trent couldn't live in limbo anymore.  He took the risk.  He knew that she might leave and not come back.  He wondered if Mike was in the picture somehow, he thought about Steve the TA, there were all these guys that could be with Daria, and who were _way_ more compatible.  He knew it couldn't be true, he knew that she didn't have anyone, except for him...maybe.  "You're killing me.  Say something."  

Daria sighed.  "Trent..." She looked as if she needed someone to rescue her. "I need time."  She realized that it sounded stupid and trite. She imagined that the words were coming out of Quinn's mouth.  Then she remembered that Quinn was coming up for early orientation in a week.  This was not something that needed to get back to Jake and Helen...just yet.  

Trent was crestfallen.  Somehow he sensed that Daria wasn't saying "no", she was saying "not now."  For one brief moment Trent was angry.  He put himself on the line and she turned him down.  "I guess I'll move back with the band."  He didn't move. It hurt too much to move.

"No."  She struggled to get the words out.  "Not yet.  I want you to stay."

That was as much as he was going to get.  He could stick around, he could be near her, but she wasn't going to say the words.  "When?"

"Soon.  I promise."  She touched his hand and felt a longing for him, but she lived her life economically, never splurging on anything, especially emotions.

***

Steve and Daria worked quietly to set up the last lab of the semester.  Daria set out the glassware and Steve focused the slides under the microscopes.  "Daria, I've got something to ask you."  He continued to focus as he spoke.

For half a second Daria thought that he might be proposing a relationship, but she dismissed that notion as quickly as it came to mind.  "Oh?"  She placed beakers at the stations.

"Have you declared your major yet?"  

That was the other huge problem weighing on Daria.  Her major.  Raft let students attend for their first year undeclared, but they were required to declare a major before the start of their sophomore year.  Daria had only two weeks to decide what she would study for the next three years, what she would be doing for the rest of her life.  "No.  I'm still trying to decide."

"For what it's worth, I happen to think that you would make a great pre-med student.  You've got a gift for analysis.  I've recommended you for an assistantship here in the bio lab.  You'll have access to the resources; you can do private, directed research.  I may even be able to swing a summer internship your way."  He saw that she seemed surprised, "Come on Daria, you know you're talented, this can't be a surprise."

"I hadn't thought about pre-med."  Daria was free-associating, thinking out loud. "If anything I always envisioned myself as some kind of research drone.  When I _thought_ about a career in science."   Her part of the work was finished so she sat on the hard, black stool and leaned on the counter.

"This is an amazing field.  Advances are being made every day.  If you were even considering medicine this is one of the top schools in the country.  You'd be able to write your own ticket to medical school.  Daria, you have no idea how hard these positions are to get.  I practically had to beg Professor Lipton for my job.  You've got this one handed to you on a silver platter."  

"I appreciate how important it is, but I haven't made up my mind.  Can I have some time to think about it?"  She washed her hands in the little sink at the end of the workstation.

"Don't take too long, we'll need to know before the final.  Daria, this is a fantastic opportunity, you'd be a fool to pass this up."  He returned to the microscopes.

"I promise, I'll think very seriously about it."  She filed it away with other important decisions that needed to be made.

***

Daria searched the list for her cumulative grade in her calculus class.  She had been getting an A all along, but she was the kind of person who enjoyed seeing it in print.  She searched for her number and saw that she was at 99%, the highest grade in the class.  Smiling she wrote it down in her notebook, along with her notes, as though she might forget it.  

"Daria!" Sarah, the TA made her way through the crowd. "I'm glad I caught you."

"Just checking my grade."  Daria indicated the paper on the wall.

"I know; you're doing awesome in this class.  So are you going to be a math major?"  Sarah was a "fuzzy girl", she had long, curly hair that seemed to be on the verge of frizzing up and her sweaters were always bulky and frayed.  She reminded Daria of a large, Angora rabbit, with a sweet face, large teeth and all that fuzziness.  

"No, I don't think so."  Daria put her notebook back into her pack.

"You're kidding!  You should think about it.  There are grants available for women in mathematics.  I've got one that pays for half of my tuition here.  Besides, if you major in math Professor Maharaj wanted you to be his TA next year."  Sarah had a leaf stuck in her sweater that distracted Daria.

"TA in math?"  It had never crossed her mind.  Daria a math major?  

"Why not?  You've clearly got a talent for it.  The basic stuff is dull, but the theoretical stuff is amazing.  You should see what Maharaj is working on.  It's revolutionary."  Sarah's eyes became distant as she considered where the research might lead.

Daria considered the offer momentarily.  She knew that she was good at math, she did have a knack for it, she enjoyed the predictability of numbers.  The idea of a job grading papers depressed her.  She imagined herself, a little tiny person, sitting in piles of notebooks.  A Sisyphean task.  "It is tempting..."

"The pay is great!"  Sarah agreed.  "The financial aid is better."

Daria thought about the money her parents were spending for her education and she felt a twinge of guilt.  Raft was expensive; there was no way around it.  Not that they complained, but Daria knew that keeping her here was depleting their savings, savings that would be needed later for their retirement.  "When do you need to know?"

"Oh, anytime.  At least before the start of the semester in the fall.  Oh, that reminds me, I've got to help collate the exam! Gotta go.  Call me if you have any questions."  She waved as she hustled down the hall.

"Oh yeah.  I'll be all over that."  Daria shouldered her pack.  One half of her rejected math outright.  The other half could not stop thinking about the grant possibilities.  Math was an easy program to get into, as opposed to the pre-med program.  The problem was that math didn't 'grab' Daria.  It was just a tool that helped her with the things she was really interested in.  She had to consider it though, especially with the promise of financial aid.

***

On Friday night Trent waited for Daria to get back.  Friday's were 'their' night.  Trent was off of work until Sunday and Daria usually postponed homework in favor of dinner and a movie.  It would be their last Friday night in the dorm.  The following weekend Quinn was coming for orientation and Trent was expected to make himself scarce.  As a surprise Trent had bought a bouquet of daisies from one of the 'cart girls' near campus.  He felt like a real suitor with his bouquet of flowers.  He nearly bought chocolate, but he didn't want to seem pushy.  The flowers were arranged in plastic pitcher that he had begged from the ladies in the dining hall.  It seemed rustic to him and thus perfect for Daria.  

Daria arrived earlier than expected.  She hadn't stopped by the library, as she usually did.  Her last term paper was finished.  The assignments were now basic.  The professors and their assistants, in anticipation of the end of the school year lightened the load.  More classes spoke of 'review sessions' in an effort to cut back on graded work.  "Hey Trent." She put her pack on the desk.  She noticed that the room was even emptier than when she left it. "Where is...."

"Courtney's stuff?  She and Ian came this morning and packed it up and moved it out.  They got a flat together.  I helped."  He smiled at his accomplishment.

"That was nice, I'd sooner lose a finger than help someone move.  Wow, so they got a flat together."

"That's what people who are in a relationship do."  He brought it up, but he didn't expect her to act on it.  

"Yup.  That's true."  No more would be said upon that topic. "So where do you want to go tonight?"

"I feel like Chinese.  Feng Yen?"  Trent didn't want to hassle with big crowds at the popular places; he liked the quiet of the small, family owned place.

"Fine.  I don't have any homework."  Daria looked around the room, trying to find something to occupy her.  It felt strange sitting with Trent, knowing he had expectations.  She dreaded getting sucked into a deep conversation with him.  

"Want to go for a walk?  It's nice out, we could go by the river and watch the boats."  

Daria figured that he wanted to get her in a romantic place, somewhere picturesque.  Trent had been subtly working on her over the past week.  She noticed the flowers and was conflicted about saying something about them, afraid of what he might say back.  It wasn't that she didn't want to be with Trent, it's that she didn't want to deal with what that meant.  "Sure, but no funny stuff."

"I promise, no funny stuff.  Just so you know, I don't think kissing is funny."  Trent chuckled and opened the door.

The day was bright and warm, a cool breeze made the new leaves in the trees rustle.  They took a path along the river and walked in silence.  Couples sat on the banks, alone in their own worlds.  It was such a beautiful day that it would be etched in the memories of everyone who had stopped to enjoy it.  Daria thought about the offers she had for employment next year.  

"Trent, I've got all these decisions to make.  I'm supposed to declare a major, but that means that I have to settle down and study one thing in particular.  I don't think I'm ready to commit to that."  Daria wanted his opinion.  Trent may not know about the academic world, but he knew how to get at the heart of an issue.  Trent had an emotional understanding and an empathy that Daria lacked.  She wanted his opinion, because she felt that without it, she was missing half of the data necessary to solve the problem.

"Who says that when you declare a major that you have to stop exploring your options?"  He asked honestly.  He didn't understand about declaring a major. 

"Sure, I can take classes in other areas, in fact, that's part of a liberal arts education, but once you've declared a major, then you've got to stick with it.  If you want to graduate."  Daria loved the feel of the sun on her face.  Boston was gray and cold during the winter and the short spring seemed like a tease.  She wanted to really see how the city felt all year round.  She hadn't developed a relationship with the city, so much as a relationship with Raft.  Today she realized that it was there all along, for her to discover and enjoy.

"So what majors are you thinking about?"  Trent breathed in the fragrance of flowers freshly bloomed.  There was something magical, as though a pretty day could fix anything that was broken.  Everywhere he turned there was something to be enjoyed.  Birds chirping, oars being dipped into the water and splashing against skulls, laughter of couples giddy with warmth and sunshine. 

"So far math and pre-med."  She waited for his reaction.  Neither was creative, at least to someone like Trent.  

"Wow, those are both heavy."  Again Trent was reminded that Daria may look like a regular girl, but in brains, she was smarter than anyone he knew.  Maybe that's why she didn't want to be with him, he couldn't ever match her intellect.  "Pre-med?  Did you want to be a doctor?"

Daria thought about how funny it was that it was the pre-med option that he honed in on.  Math would have been the obvious one.  Who _wants_ to study math?  "I never gave it any thought, but I have to wonder about it.  The professor thinks that I'm talented enough to be a doctor.  You have to admit, that's big."

"Yeah, but being a doctor involves sacrifices.  Most people dream about it as a career.  They feel called to it."  Trent thought it would be unkind to suggest that certain people skills were needed as well.

"I can see being the kind of doctor that deals with patients would involve a dream.  But I can envision myself as a researcher.  Sitting in labs, studying.  That isn't so...incongruous."  Daria realized that she was using a math term.  

"Okay, that makes sense for you.  What about math, at least that's interesting."  

"You think that math is interesting?"  Daria was shocked. Most people admired her ability to live through her math classes; very few of them recognized that there were compelling aspects of it.  

"Yeah.  It's the foundation of everything.  Science is nothing without math.  The patterns, the way it all fits together.  Math is like puzzles, waiting to be solved."  He enjoyed a memory of something, and Daria thought about how much more complex he was once she started to know him.  

"Right, but you have to admit, not a lot of people see it that way.  The good thing about majoring in math is that there is a scholarship that goes along with it.  A big scholarship."  She sighed.

"You don't sound happy about it."  

Daria had to face it.  She wasn't happy about it.  In all of her daydreams mathematician didn't factor into it.  "Happy?  About a major?"

"Daria, college isn't preparation for a lifetime of work.  It's an opportunity to explore your interests.  All of them.  If math doesn't turn you on, then don't let a scholarship be the reason you major in it.  You should major in the subject you enjoy the most."

"The world is full of unemployed English majors.  Besides, what do you do with that degree, teach?  I don't want to be a teacher."

"So what you're saying is that in a perfect world, you'd be an English major."  

"I guess so." The realization startled her.  She liked literature and journalism and writing.  She loved the idea of discussing the themes of these things with professors and other students.  

"You have your answer."  

"I do, but I don't like it.  Can you imagine what my parents would say if they knew I had the opportunity to be a doctor and didn't do it?"

"You have the opportunity to do all kinds of things, but just because you're good at them doesn't mean that you should do them, especially if you don't enjoy them."  He put his hands in his pockets.

"But Trent, I can see myself being a research scientist.  That at least will help other people.  That at least will help me get a job after graduation.  A doctor.  Think about how that would look."  She bit her lip and imagined how proud her parents would be. 

"That's my point.  You like the way it looks.  Do you really think that you'll enjoy studying it?  Do you think that you would enjoy working at it?  My friend Don used to say that if you love what you do you'll never work a day in your life.  Don't worry about what you'll do with your education.  Education isn't about job skills.  Learn something.  Love what you learn.  You can always get a job later."  

Their walk had taken them a couple of miles down the river.  The sun was low in the sky and it shimmered off of the water giving halos to everything.  Trent stood glowing in the light.  For a moment Daria felt that he was the voice of enlightenment.  Everything she believed in her core, he had voiced.  He gave her the courage to pursue, not what was lucrative, or prestigious, or convenient, but the things that would make her happy.  

"You know what?  I think I will be an English major.  I may just be another face in the crowd there, but it's what I want to do.  Thanks."  They were standing on a knoll; the incline was such that they were face to face.  Daria leaned over and kissed him.  The impulse took her by surprise, but Trent was even more surprised.  

At first they were quiet.  Perfect moments are enjoyed in silence.  The trees filtered the sunlight into patches of green and red.  She smiled at him.  He took her hand and held it to his heart for a moment before leading her down to the footpath.  They walked back in the twilight, toward dinner and endless possibilities.

***

The week was spent in hectic confusion.  People in the dorms were ascertaining their living situations for the next year.  Roommates deciding if they were going to stay together or throw caution to the wind, hoping that the next pairing would be better.  Boxes were scavenged from neighboring merchants, the copy center, anywhere within walking distance.  Trent had accommodated Daria with liquor boxes from the pub.  

"Daria, they're perfect for moving.  They're designed to hold a small amount of heavy, fragile bottles.  Your books and objects," he indicated her anatomical specimens, "will be fine in these."  He held up one of many Heineken boxes.

"But they make me look like a..." She reached for the word.

"A person who got lucky with a bunch of good boxes.  Come on. Let's pack this up.  So I guess you're going back to Lawndale, huh?"

"Unless something momentous happens.  I don't really have a choice.  It's only a couple of months.  I can come back in August."  She wrapped her hydrocephalic skull in newspaper before placing it gingerly into the box.

"But it won't be the same."  He meant that on many levels.

"I know.  We'll figure it out."  She continued to pack, overwhelmed by a feeling of melancholy.  She loved living with Trent as his friend.  She liked their routines, their rhythms.  No matter what happened, things were changing.  When she kissed him she knew that their friendship was something more.  She wanted to wait, to have time to evaluate it, before jumping in, but they were more to each other than friends.  Even now as they bickered about how to pack, there was something intimate about their conversation.  

Trent had already moved his things back to the pub.  Quinn was arriving that evening and she would be staying with Daria for the weekend.  The boxes were stacked neatly on Courtney's desk.  Few things were left out.  The laptop, stereo, some clothing.  The rest was all put away, waiting for a destination.

Daria had one class that afternoon.  Survey of English Lit.  Rather than a large lecture hall, the class was small and held in the English building.  Daria took her book and headed out.  She wanted to be early, to review her notes before class.  "I'll see you later?"

"Yeah, I'll reserve at table for us. How many?"  

"Quinn, me, your sister and Joe.  When do you go on?"  Daria waited by the door as he looked around, trying to think reasons to stay, and finding none.

"Eight or nine, whenever.  Come early, I'll buy you a burger."  He grabbed the last of his stuff and looked around.  Everything began in this room, would it end here too?

"Great."  They separated at the door of the building. Trent to his car, Daria to her class.

The English building was in the center of campus.  It was one of the first buildings constructed at the college, it had history and mystique; it also had a funky, moldy smell.  The administration initiated a project to remove the mold, which caused the classes in the building to be punctuated with the sounds of workmen and machinery grinding in the background.  

Daria decided to see her professor during his office hours.  She wanted to ask him about majoring in English.  Her grades were excellent in his class, but most of the class got excellent grades.  She couldn't gauge how well she was doing; literature was so subjective.

She knocked on the open door, covered in snippets of words and comics cut from newspapers and magazines.  Professor Bock waved her in, although he was on the phone.  "Bob, the manuscript is on its way to you.  Yes, on disk and on paper.  I know.  Fine.  So I'm done now right?  I'm getting paid now, right?"  There was a pause. "See that it is.  I've got a student, I'll talk to you later."  He hung up and indicated that Daria should sit in the chair by his desk.  "What can I do for you this afternoon Ms. Morgendorffer?"

"Professor, I've been thinking about declaring my major..."  
  


"Wow, you sure are dragging it out.  They aren't going to let you register for classes until you do that you know."  He pulled out a pipe and sucked on the stem.  There was no smoking in the building, but he liked the taste of his pipe.

"Yes.  That's true.  I was thinking about being an English Lit major, but I thought I'd ask you about that first.  I've had other offers."  She didn't exactly know why she wanted his approval, but considering that the other departments were so eager for her to join them, she wanted an assurance that she would be welcome in her first choice.

"Why do you want to major in English?"  He rooted around in his desk, but it was an absentminded movement more than an effort to find anything in particular.  At least that's how it looked.  Daria half expected him to find Jimmy Hoffa among the piles of papers and other detritus that seemed to take over his office. 

Daria grasped for an answer.  Should she make something up?  What didn't sound stupid and childish?  She decided that the truth was as good an answer as any.  "I like English."

"Good!  I'm so tired of these talentless nitwits trying to get me to read their first novels.  Daria, I've thought that you showed promise from the first paper you wrote for me.  In fact I've had you in mind for a job we've got here in the department, but I didn't know if you were interested in the subject."

"A job?" Daria sat up in her seat, expecting to hear about a TA position.  Mountains of English 101 papers and endless visits to the copy center. 

"Well, not a job in the traditional sense.  The department head, Dr. Bamman, needs a student liaison, someone who can represent us at administration meetings, student council and crap like that.  That's the down side of the job.  You would also do some administrative work in her office.  Report writing, budget analysis, Jack-of-all-trades kinds of stuff.  The other thing is that you would be expected to provide the newspaper with articles and press releases.  It's twenty-five hours a week, so you need to take a light load of classes.  It comes with a stipend and tuition assistance."  He puffed on his pipe and made a face.  He took it out and tapped out a plug of ash.  He rooted around on his desk again and found a tin of altoids.  He opened it and took one out, offering one to Daria as well.

Daria took a mint and thought about the offer.  "So it's not an assistantship?  There won't be any grading involved?"  

"No, I can get _anyone _to help with grading.  I think you would be perfect for this position.  If you don't have plans for the summer, you can start in two weeks.  Tell you what, give me your homework and go up and speak to Dr. Bamman.  She's here today.  You can skip class and take care of this now.  I'm sure it would be a load off of your mind."  He gave her an application and directed her to the Department Chairman's office.

"You have no idea."  Daria glanced at the stipulations of the position and nearly choked when she saw how much the stipend was.  It was more than pizza money.  

Daria spent the next two hours discussing the position with Dr. Bamman and seeing her counselor to officially declaring her major.  She hurried home to get ready for Quinn.  She wanted to call home and let her parents know what she had decided.  

***

Quinn arrived in a taxi with four suitcases.  Upon closer inspection one of the suitcases was a pet carrier.  Daria helped her upstairs with everything and nearly dropped a bag when Joyce awoke from her nap in a foul mood.

"MEOW!"  She complained, as only a Siamese can.

"Joyce, you bad girl.  You've been miserable the entire day.  This is a Coach carrier and you are a beautiful kitty.  Stop screaming and act like a lady!"  Quinn removed the cat from the bag and nuzzled her. The cat seemed to be slightly happier, but insisted on a meal and a proper nap.  Quinn set her up with a can of food, a bowl of water and a pillow in the window.  

"Quinn, why did you bring Joyce and," she surveyed the baggage, "everything you own?"

"Daria, not only am I up here for my orientation, I've also got to find an office for my business.  I've narrowed it down to a couple of places.  I'm trying to get a dual use location, so that Joyce can stay up here with me.  Confidentially, I don't think that Mom will want to deal with her when I'm gone."

Joyce busily inspected her surroundings, muttering her comments as each new object met with her disapproval.  

"I wonder why?  So you're going to let a cat help you decide where your offices will be?"  Daria realized that she and her sister lived in entirely different worlds.  This was not a new observation, but now that the cat figured into the equation, the comparison was stark. 

"She's going to live there.  Of course she's going to have a say.  Look, the orientation doesn't start until Saturday. I've got an agent coming for me in the morning.  Come with me to help me decide."

"But I have class.  It's our review session," Daria said, "besides, why do you need my help?"

"I trust you on these things. I can do the negotiations, but I need your opinion.  You can help me with the logistics.  You can bail on review anyhow.  What class is it?"  Quinn was arranging her outfit for the evening.

"Calculus."  Daria checked her hair in the mirror.  It was still there.  She was ready to go.

"Please.  You don't need the review.  Come with me!"  Quinn wheedled.  

Daria agreed; she didn't need the review. Additionally, she wanted to avoid Sarah.  "Okay, but you have to buy me breakfast."  She felt that Quinn needed to believe that she got the better part of the deal.

"Fine, but you have to pick a place that makes egg white omelets.  I'm ready."  Quinn could make jeans and a shirt look elegant.  

They took a cab to BFAC where they met Jane and Joe. Daria told everyone about her new job and her decision about her major on the short walk to the pub.  

"So you'll be staying in Boston over the summer then?"  Jane asked.

"I guess, I've got to find a place to stay.  Trent has his apartment, so he's set, but I need to find somewhere, pronto.  Maybe Quinn's agent can help."  Daria suggested.

"She does commercial real estate, but I'll bet she knows someone."  Quinn flipped her hair and smoothed her blouse.  "How hard can it be to find an apartment?"

Joe laughed.  "In Boston?  It's expensive and overcrowded." He paused and remembered, "although I'll bet Mike will let you stay at his place until you find something."  
  


"There's an offer.  I've been to his place.  Six guys in a three-bedroom apartment.  I'll be in charge of rearranging the beer can pyramid." Daria rolled her eyes.  

"The guys are going to hockey camp.  You'll have the place to yourself."  Joe explained.

"Well, it's an option.  Great."  Daria smiled.  Everything seemed to be falling into place.

Quinn leaned in and spoke in Daria's ear. "We'll still see what Cindy can come up with."

Daria nodded.  Mike's would be a last resort.  

The pub was fairly empty when they arrived.  The band had set up but they were loitering around waiting for an audience.  

"Hey guys!" Trent came over to the group.  "We set up a table over here."  A large round table had been reserved for the group. The evening passed pleasantly, with conversation, music and burgers.  

The next morning Quinn and Daria stood on the curb with Joyce in the carrier, waiting for Cindy to pull up.  Finally a Lexus turned slowly up the drive.  The girls got in and they got a whirlwind tour of the neighborhood.  

The first place was merely a warehouse with an office.  Quinn pooh-poohed it from the passenger seat.  "Joyce can't live there."

The second place was a retail shop with a large storage room in the back.  A small studio apartment came with the space over the top of the store.  Daria thought it was decent and had an eye towards living in the studio.  "Quinn this isn't bad.  You've got plenty of space for your products, you can do retail in front, or just make it your office."  Daria looked up and down the block.  It was an old main street that had been revived with soap shops, Starbucks and other outlets of that ilk.  Most people would have considered it charming. 

"No.  That studio upstairs isn't big enough.  Although I think Joyce would like the view from the window.  I don't need any storage space.  I drop ship the product.  Storing product is expensive and inefficient in a mail order business." She explained.  "Let's go to the next one."

They traveled for ten minutes and turned into what appeared to be a residential area.  Victorian houses faced the first interior street.  Each had a small sign or shingle out, explaining what the business was.  There was a dental practice, a law firm, a restaurant and travel agency.

"A travel agency?  Weird, I didn't think people used them anymore."  Quinn said as they pulled into the driveway of the gray house with white trim.  

"Exactly, that's why the place is for rent.  The woman who owned the agency and the house couldn't make a living any more.  That's why she gave up the business.  She's decided to move to Palm Springs.  With what she's asking in rent, she could live comfortably off the proceeds."  Cindy gave the lowdown on their prospective landlady.

Quinn couldn't believe her luck.  The people she usually did business with weren't so open.  Cindy must have underestimated her due to her age.  She smiled; there was blood in the water.  She grabbed the carrier and they went up to the lockbox on the front door.  Another good sign, the building was vacant.  

The house had been used as a business for nearly twenty years, but no appreciable changes had been made to the structure.  The entryway featured a crystal chandelier that had wisps of cobwebs hanging from it.  An indication that the house was vacant for quite some time.  The living room was to the right, there had been carpeting installed over hard wood floors.  Three steel desks were still positioned there, apparently to allow a prospective renter to see how the room had been used as an office.  An area behind that was the dining room.  A bank of windows looked out over the large back yard. The transoms were stained glass.  A humming bird feeder hung from the eaves of the house.  To the left of the dining room was a kitchen.  It was very large, with room for a table in the middle.  

"You could roller skate in here," Daria marveled as she admired the appliances and tile work left untouched from a remodel in the 1930's.  

"Wow, look at this.  All we need is Fiesta ware and Depression glass."  Quinn made it sound bad, like it was undesirable.  She could see the eager longing in Daria's face and she needed to do something about it.

They moved through a second door in the kitchen into a scullery.  On the left was shelving for food stores, including quaint bins for onions and potatoes.  On the right, there were outlets for a washer and dryer, long unused and capped off.  There was a door at the end of the scullery that led to a maid's room.  It was small, but quiet and connected, through a pocket door, to the powder room.  

Daria couldn't get enough.  The houses that she lived in were new and modern.  This house had a history.  The air she breathed could have been there for one hundred years.  Every old fashioned fixture fascinated her.  Quinn tried to seem disgusted, but Joyce was kicking up a ruckus, demanding to be released from her cat prison.  At each of the previous stops Joyce snurfled, mumbled and affected complete disinterest.  Here, she insisted upon being paroled.  Quinn released her and she immediately began investigating.  She started with the carpet in the living room.  She scratched at it, as though there might be hidden treasure under it.  

"What's under that carpet?  It's clearly going to need to be removed."  Quinn asked, adding another reason to bypass this house as her headquarters.

"The same oak flooring that's all through the house."  Cindy answered, consulting a clipboard.  "Shall we see what's upstairs?"

The all walked up to the second floor on creaking stairs.  An old fashioned bathroom faced them at the top of the stairs.  A pedestal sink, a period commode and a gigantic claw footed bathtub.  Daria drew a large intake of breath.  She could swim in the tub. Fantasies of candlelight bubble baths filled her head.  The upstairs, primarily unused for the past two decades was filthy.  Daria could see through the haze of dirt and neglect, to see the house as it was generations ago.  She poked her head into the bedrooms.  There were three of them, rather small, but comfortable.  They each had a small iron faced fireplace.  

Quinn wrinkled her nose in disgust.  Joyce poked hers into corners of interest.  "I wonder if she smells mice."  

Cindy again consulted the clipboard. "No, it was professionally exterminated last month. I admit, it could use some cleaning."  She wiped a window casing and a thick smear of dust came off in her hand. "Huh.  Serious cleaning.  I have some professionals that I can recommend, if you're interested.  I can take you to the attic and the basement, or we can move on to the next property."

Daria begged Quinn with her eyes to look at the rest of the house.  "Well, I suppose since we're here..." Quinn said noncommittally.  It was clear that her sister and her cat were making the disinterested act hard to play.

The attic was unfinished, but had new insulation.  The basement had been semi-finished when a new heating and cooling system was installed five years previously.  There was a small bathroom down there, and plenty of room for expansion.  Or for a band to rehearse. Or for an artist's studio.  A bank of small rectangular windows brought sufficient daylight into the room.  

Daria's mind was racing.  She had moved both Trent and Jane into the house with her and was making even bigger plans when Quinn pulled her aside.  "Cindy, can you give us a second here?  I'd like to speak with my sister."  

"Sure, no problem.  I'll be in the car, I've got to make some calls anyway."  She left and Daria and Quinn sat on the floor of the living room, staring at the huge marble mantle of the fireplace.

They waited until they heard the door of Cindy's car slam.  Quinn squealed.  "It's perfect!  I love this room.  I could have a beautiful sofa in here.  A big, comfy sofa.  Joyce can nap right there," she indicated the area right in front of the fireplace.  That dining room could be my conference room.  I'll get a huge table and lots of chairs.  The price is unbelievable."

"You're going to take it?"  Daria was shocked.  All Quinn had done was deride the place, it seemed like she hated it.  "I thought it grossed you out."

"Are you kidding?  It's wonderful.  It's absolutely my image.  Joyce loves it."  She pointed to the cat, happily rolling around on the carpet.  

"But you've said such unkind things about the house."  Daria observed.

"Right, because between you and Joyce I can't make a deal.  It's obvious that you love this house.  Someone had to play the game.  This carpet has got to go.  Ugh, blue carpet?  They must have bought it on sale."  Quinn's thoughts were moving as fast as Daria's.

"MEOW!"  Joyce chimed in, trying to scale the old velvet draperies at the bay window.

"So you're taking this house?"  Daria asked hopefully.

"I don't see how I can't."  Quinn said ruefully.  

"Please let me rent a space in here."  Daria pleaded, she never asked Quinn for anything, but _this_ she wanted. 

"No.  I don't think so." Quinn responded, moving dust around on the mantle.

"No?"  Daria was crushed.

"Daria, I don't want your money.  Just pick a bedroom and move in.  I need someone to stay with Joyce.  I need you to watch over the workmen while they renovate.  Have Trent move in too if you want.  There's plenty of space."  Quinn sighed with contentment.  

"You're kidding.  I can live here and Trent can live here with you?"  She couldn't bring herself to say 'Trent and I'.  

"No, I'm not going to live here. I think I'm going to pledge a sorority, or live in the dorms.  I want a feeling of being a part of the school.  Besides, freshman can't live off campus."  Quinn got up and extended her hand to Daria.  "For the time being I'll just do business here."

Daria couldn't help it.  It was a dream come true.  "MEOW!" Joyce brought her down to earth.

Quinn picked up the cat, "Now you're going to be a good kitty for Aunty Daria, aren't you?" Joyce purred for Quinn. "What a nice kitty." Daria had her doubts. 

Cindy was waiting for them on the porch, apparently finished with her phone calls.  "So?  Shall we go to the next property?"

"No, I think we'll take it, but we need some concessions in the contract..."  Daria sat on the porch enjoying the shade tree and porch swing.  In the house details were hammered out.  Quinn came out while Cindy had people in her office draw up contracts.

"We've got it for five years with an option to purchase at a locked in price at the end of the contract."  She smiled.  Apparently the deal was advantageous for her.

"Okay, when can I move in?"  Daria didn't pussyfoot around. 

"In two weeks.  It's going to take at least that long to get all that dirt steamed off and a fresh coat of paint on.  I don't think you want to be there when they refinish the floors next week."  

"You arranged all of that already?  How?"  Daria was amazed at her sister.

"Cindy is taking care of it.  Daria, you have to delegate to experts and let people earn their fees."  Quinn packed Joyce back up in the carrier and they walked back to the car.  "Oh, do you want to tell Trent or shall I?"  

Daria blushed.  "Let me take care of it."

"Okay, sis.  Let's go shopping, we need a bunch of things!"  Quinn bounced into the car.  

***

Quinn's whirlwind weekend exhausted Daria. Finally it was time for them to say goodbye.  The cab waited while the sisters embraced.  "So I'll see you next week at graduation?"

"I wouldn't miss it."  Daria said, thinking that while she had no desire whatsoever to be in Lawndale, or to see the old high school, that watching Quinn graduate was important, to the both of them.

"Okay!  Make sure you get over to the house every couple of days to see how it's going!" Quinn called from the window of the cab.

Daria nodded in agreement and waved as they drove off.

Things had fallen into place.  Daria had a major, a job and a house.  There was just one last detail.  She called Trent.

They agreed to meet at the river.  The day was pretty and they needed to be on neutral territory.  Daria's heart beat fast as she thought about what she was going to do.  Originally she wanted to wait until after exams, but right now it didn't matter.  It didn't seem fair for her to leave Trent not knowing. Or more specifically, not assured.

She walked towards the river and saw him sitting under a tree, watching. He stood up as she approached and hugged her.  She hugged him back.

"So how was your weekend with your sister?"  He started off with something safe. 

"I feel like it was a year. But we got a lot done."  Daria told him all about the house, or nearly all about it.

"So you're going to live there alone with the cat?"  He seemed skeptical; Daria wasn't really an animal lover.

"I always knew that I would be alone with a cat, it's just sixty years earlier than I thought it would be."  She smiled at him.  "You know, I'd rather not be there alone with Joyce, I don't think she likes me."  

"From what you tell me, I don't think she likes anyone.  So you don't want to be alone?"  His hopes rose. Perhaps...

"No, I really don't.  I'm not just talking about housing you know."  She glanced shyly at the water, anywhere but into Trent's eyes.

"I know.  So you want me to be with you?"  He took her hand and found it to be cold.  He warmed it between his own.

"Yes."  She looked at him and he smiled at her.

They kissed.  A sweet, simple kiss.  Ducks quacked and children screamed with delight.  It was a shiny Sunday and they had all the time in the world.


	14. Dream House

**Dream House**

**By Ruthless Bunny**

Daria woke up to the sunshine pouring into the room.  "Damn rosy fingers of dawn."  She rolled over and tried to sleep, but Joyce wouldn't let her.  The cat had jumped up on the bed and was butting her head against Daria.

"MEOW!" she insisted, her tail swishing in annoyance.

Summertime was supposed to be celebrated by self-indulgent sloth--unless you were taking care of a cat.  As she rose from twilight into full consciousness, Daria could hear the arrival of the work crew.  

"I'm UP!" Daria batted Joyce away from her and raked her hair with her fingers.  She went downstairs in her shorts and nightshirt to get Joyce a bowl of Meow Mix.  The guys from "House Fixers" had already put on the coffee and were plotting out their day.

"Morning Sunshine," Kevin said, scarfing down donuts.

"Shut up," Daria growled, getting the cat food out of the pantry.

"So you're in a good mood this morning then?"  He laughed at her and continued to review the plans as the rest of the guys unloaded the equipment from the truck.

She glared at him.  The major stuff was done before she moved in.  The living room floor was resurfaced and shone like a lake in autumn.  The bathrooms had been retiled and refitted with gleaming new fixtures.  Paint had been applied expertly to the walls, but Quinn wasn't satisfied.  The guys seemed to have a perpetual job in the house as projects occurred to her.  Today it was the kitchen.  

According to a decorating show on Home and Garden Television, the paint on the aluminum cabinets could be buffed off, leaving a modern metallic touch to a thirties design.  Quinn was debating whether or not to get old Formica patterned countertop or marble.  In the meantime, the cabinets were currently on the back porch and the kitchen looked like a roller rink.  

Daria rolled her eyes and planned to drink her tea upstairs in relative peace, or until the work crew started up with the power tools.  Joyce was nonplussed and ate her breakfast with satisfaction.

"Hey, Sunshine, tell your sister that I got an amazing deal on her floor tiles.  We'll be installing the floor tomorrow.

"Great.  What does that mean to me?"  Daria sighed, this home improvement stuff was never-ending.

"Well, we'll move the fridge onto the porch and take away the stove.  The cabinets should be back up tonight.  Until Quinn makes a decision on the countertops though, you can't have water in here.  You'll have to keep using that sink in the scullery."  He indicated the pantry.  "That's next you know."  
  


"What?" 

"Yeah, she wants us to do something in there..." he meant to continue but she stopped him.

"I don't want to hear any more.  Are you guys ever going to be done?"  Exasperation took over.  It was easy for Quinn to dream up improvements, she didn't have to live with the construction.

"Hey, my wife wants a pool, as long as Quinn wants something, I'm the guy who's going to make it happen." He winked at her and went outside to let the crew know what they were doing.

Daria went upstairs and decided to go to work early.  Sticking around would only piss her off. 

Daria returned to the house at around three in the afternoon. She found Trent eating lunch in the dining/conference area.  He looked lonely sitting at the head of the large rosewood table nibbling at his tuna sandwich.  Joyce sat across from him, standing in the middle, taking small offerings of tuna from his fingers.  

"So how does it look?"  Daria asked, ignoring the cat on the table, a thing civilized people wouldn't allow for an instant. 

"What look?"  Trent and Joyce were involved in a love-fest. 

"The kitchen.  How does the kitchen look?"  She dropped her bag on the floor.

"Check it out for yourself.  The fridge is outside."  He informed her.

"Yeah, for tomorrow." She walked into the kitchen and marveled at the conversion.  Steel-gray cabinets hung where previously powder yellow boxes had been.  The kitchen had a streamlined look now.  It was still retro, but modern as well.  She hated Quinn for being right, mostly because it involved so much noise.  The linoleum floor was littered with chunks of plaster and other detritus from the construction. "Trent!" she yelled into the other room, "what is up with all this trash on the floor?"

He appeared at the doorway, "They're going to get a super vacuum to get it up tomorrow.  Why bother fooling with it?"  He crunched across the floor to put the plate in the one working sink.  

"For Pete's sake." Daria followed him into the scullery and got the broom. "How hard is it to sweep?"  She spent about five minutes running the broom and most of the big stuff was off the floor and dumped.  They could get the microscopic bits tomorrow. "At least now it won't sound like we're crossing the arctic tundra when we're in here for a snack."  

Trent had settled himself on the sofa, a large, comfortable sectional, to watch the afternoon round of mindless drivel.  He was moving between a court show and Ricki Lake.  Joyce had settled herself near him, on the back of the sofa, she was purring with contentment.

"So when are you going in to work?"  Daria liked having him around but she was in a nasty mood and wanted to be alone.

"Don't have to.  They got some beer promotion contest or something.  Night off."  Trent closed his eyes, letting the soporific effect of the sofa do its work.

"Oh.  So you had a night off and you didn't tell me?"  She said it in a monotone.

"Huh?  Why?"  Trent was just at the stage of drowsiness where it was nearly impossible to pay attention to conversation, especially conversations you didn't want to have.

"I don't know.  It's not like we see a lot of each other with our schedules and if you had a spare evening it would have been nice to make plans or something."  Daria shrugged, there was no way not to sound hurt out of proportion and she resented Trent for not 'getting' it and making her explain it.

Trent realized, even in his somnolent state that he was on dangerous ground.  Blow it off, sound like an insensitive jerk.  Argue back; sound like an insensitive jerk.  What was behind door number three?  The lady or the tiger?  "I just thought it would be nice to spend a quiet evening together.  We could get a movie on pay-per-view...or something."  He tried to gauge her mood by her expression, which he found impossible.  

"Yeah.  Okay.  I'm going upstairs to soak in the tub.  I might nap.  We'll talk about it later."  She tried not to betray whatever it was that her crabbiness was trying to get her into.  

"Great.  Later."  Joyce jumped down as he started to snore quietly.  She padded upstairs to see what Daria was doing.

Daria oblivious to Joyce's entrance prepared a bath.  She wasn't entirely sold on taking a bath, but she was aggravated and couldn't really explain why.  She hoped that a moment lounging in lavender water would relax her and help her gain perspective.  Joyce perched on the lid of the commode and watched with fascination as the water came out of the spout and ran into the tub.  

Daria cued up the Brandenburg Concertos on the CD player and sank into the hot, fragrant tub.  Today it was hard to appreciate everything she had.  Everything she thought would make her happy was on her last nerve.  

Her dream house, full of charm and quiet, had been turned upside-down with workmen converting closets into curio cabinets and all other manner of projects.  Trent, who Daria felt hung the moon on most days, could also be more helpless than a baby, especially when it came to matters requiring common sense.  Her job, the one she felt so honored to be selected for, during the summer was nothing more than mailroom work.  

Daria decided that what she really wanted was a pity party.  She felt sorry for herself.  Daria had a strategy for times like this.  Bathe, go to bed with Pride and Prejudice and if hungry, only eat cereal. Except Trent was home and wanted to do something with her.  Unless he just slept through the evening.  Which might happen.  

After a half-hour, the cat, realizing that she was trapped, started kicking up a ruckus     about being in the hot, steamy bathroom.

"MEOW!"  She batted at the door, expecting Daria to get out of the tub to let her out.

"It's your fault. You weren't invited in."  Daria said as Joyce sat in front of the door, swishing her tail.

"MEOW! MERROWWW!"  Joyce's eyes narrowed to slits, waiting for her human to do her bidding.

"Shut up!"  Daria waved at the cat and sank further into the tub.  

The door opened a crack and a rush of cool air came in as Joyce slid through.  Daria opened her eyes in time to see the end of the chocolate brown tail disappear.  "Thanks Trent."  

"Hardly.  Having a bad day?"  Quinn sat down and stared at her sister.

"Yes.  And people joining me in my bath isn't improving my temperament."  Daria gave up on the relaxing bath and emerged from the tub, wrapping a towel around her.

"I just home to change.  I heard Joyce up here and I thought I'd rescue you."  

"Thanks."  Daria shimmied into her robe and they left the bathroom and sat on the bed in Quinn's room.  Daria leaned back, staring at the ceiling.

"So what's the problem?"  Quinn began to sort through her clothes, looking for an outfit to wear out that evening.

"I don't know.  Everything is so...." She gestured with her arms, searching for the words.

"Normal?"  Quinn was matching eye shadows to a top, trying to decide if she wanted to contrast or to match.  

"Huh?"  Daria's hair was twisted into a towel turban on her head.  She loosened it because she didn't think she heard Quinn correctly.

"Normal.  You don't have all of that relationship angst any more.  You don't pine away for him when he's gone.  You don't wait on pins and needles hoping he'll say something more.  It's signed, sealed and delivered.  And you're bored."  She held up the outfit for Daria's approval.  Then she remembered where she was and with whom.

"Cosmo?"  Daria replied flippantly.

"Be serious.  No, it's all part of the deal. You can't live in a world where you're off balance all the time, but once you start to feel comfortable, you miss the excitement."  She disappeared into the closet to dress.

"So what do I do about it?"  She reached over to the table by Quinn's bed for some hand cream and began to massage it into her feet.

"How would I know?  That's when I usually change boyfriends.  Guys don't throw me off balance."  She sprayed a cloud of perfume and walked into it.  "Okay, speaking of which, I'm off with Matt tonight.  I'll be back late so don't worry about me."  
  


"I never do."

Quinn gathered her handbag and bounced out the door to meet her date.  Daria astonished herself by realizing that she would miss Quinn when she moved into the dorms.  She moved through Quinn's room looking over all the minutiae of Quinn's essence.  She squirted some fragrance on her wrists and dabbed a bit behind her ears.  Daria continued to rifle her sister's belongings, finding everything new and exciting.  She tried a face cream that made her skin glow.  She toweled her hair until it was damp and applied some stuff out of a tube.  She combed it through and liked the way it made her hair feel silky.  Daria's curiosity wasn't about how she might look better, but more about what it was like to _do_ all of this stuff.  

Quinn had always been the high maintenance one.  Even as a child Daria would be on the sofa waiting for Quinn to finish getting ready.  Their mom had delighted in dressing Quinn up, since Daria wasn't hands-on that way.  She remembered wishing that there was something that she and Helen could share, the way the Quinn and Helen shared dressing up.  In her rivalry for attention, Daria decided that she would never try to beat Quinn at her game, therefore Daria thought of a new game.  Daria's game was to be the smartest.  In a way the sisters respected their area of expertise.  Quinn was the pretty one, Daria was the smart one.  There was only one time that the roles reversed, a few years ago in high school Quinn wrote an essay that won praise and Daria had to warn her off of her territory.  

At the time Daria thought it was only fair, but now she felt ashamed.  What if that episode had caused Quinn not to use her intellect in an appropriate way?  Daria's appearance issues were her own, but Quinn was _comfortable _being smart.  She opened a pot of lip-gloss and smeared the cherry flavored goo on her lips.  

Staring at herself in Quinn's mirror Daria finally saw what others saw, a pretty young woman.  It startled her.  Not the pretty part.  Daria knew that she was hiding pretty, but the young woman part.  When did she become an adult?  Had she been one for a while?  

Daria went back to her room and lay on her bed.  Joyce had curled up in her laundry basket, only her ears stood up over the rim.  Daria thought about how she had changed since coming to college.  

New people, new situations, new attitude.  The old game, stand-offish and sarcastic didn't work in her new environment.  College was different from high school, especially Ivy League college.  Daria _wanted_ to know and like her classmates.  Everything she thought she knew about people had been proven wrong in just twelve months.  

Steve, Mike, Gayle, Courtney, Melissa.  A list of people that on the surface would have repulsed her, she wouldn't have given any of them the time of day based upon their one-line descriptions.  Lab geek, jock, sorority girl, roommate, Christian RA.  On the surface...that's what had changed.  She was willing to go deeper.  

Daria had gone from an isolated high school loner to a young woman with friends.  Sure, she still had Jane and Trent but beyond that Daria had found a place where she could be who she was and still be popular.  A thrill shot through her.  She was popular...on her terms.

Daria cast her mind back and tried to think of the last time she felt the need to cut someone down.  Not only was there no one who deserved it, she didn't want to be that kind of person anymore.  She did need friends, she did need colleagues.  It wasn't merely that Quinn had changed; it was the fact that Daria had changed too.  For the better.  

The things that had so annoyed Daria during the day suddenly reminded her of how far she had come.  She had a boyfriend to get on her nerves, a sister to share secrets with and a cat who liked her laundry.  She tried to find a silver lining in workmen who woke her up with the sounds of pneumatic drills, but for the most part Daria was happy with her life.  

She got up from the bed, threw on a sundress and went downstairs to wake Trent up.  He had managed to tangle himself up in the sofa pillows.  The sun was still out although low in the sky.  Daria watched him sleep, struggling with herself about waking him, but he had an unexpected evening off and she wanted to take advantage.  "Hey Trent."  

He opened his eyes when he heard her voice. "Hmmmm?"

"I thought you might like to take me out.  Feel like a slow boat ride on the river?  How about a lobster?"  She stood silhouetted in the sunlight as he squinted up at her.

"Yeah, that sounds perfect."  He hoisted himself off the sofa and kissed her on the forehead.  "Lobster."

Daria shrugged.  It wasn't romantic, but it was right for her.  


	15. Logland

**Logland**

**By Ruthless Bunny**

Entry 22 

My English teacher suggested that we all get one of these.  She said if we could prove that we've got an account, that we can keep our journals on-line instead of in a spiral notebook.  

I did that, but now the semester is over and I've still got this thing.  Why am I typing here?  I have no idea. 

Entry 37 

I went to the Zon.  Neil and Craig didn't want to come; they went to a party at Zoe's house.  I was invited, but I didn't feel like drinking a beer and pretending that I was drunk.  Sarah Lyons is still trying to get me to take her out.  She's nice, but I don't really want to date anyone from school.  My Mom would love it if I went out with Sarah, since she and Mrs. Lyons play bridge together.  I can see them planning our prom night now.  Forget it.

The Zon has live music and an all-age policy so I thought, "Hey, it beats sitting home at night."  The band was pretty funny.  They can't really play all that well, but they look the part.  I was about to call it a night when I saw this really cute girl.  

She was with her friend.  Why is it that girls never go anywhere alone?  Her friend looked totally miserable.  Not just to be at the club, but bone-miserable.  This is a girl that will never smile.  So Jane, that's her name, agreed to come out with me to the burger stand.  I don't really know what the other girl did.  

We talked and hit it off.  She's an artist and she was there because her brother is in the band.  She's not like anyone I've ever known.  She even liked my car.  Truthfully I don't like my car, especially in the winter, but I love how it annoys my Dad.  He makes me park it in the garage so the neighborhood association won't send us a notice. 

Entry 39 

So I start seeing Jane, which is good, but her friend is such a bitch!  I'm trying to be the nice guy, but Daria is just giving me shit from day one.  Jane says she made a big hairy deal about the fact that we went for food alone.  It's not like I'm an ax murderer or anything.  Daria apparently is some massive control freak.  She's being a major pain about some project they're doing together.  To be honest, I don't care about Daria, but you know how girls are.  Their best friend is some kind of oracle, even when she's being an asshole.   I'll have to have a talk with her.  Girls like conversation.

Entry 38 

I had a talk with Daria.  At first I just wanted to get it over with, but it's hard to say, "Hey, don't be such a bitch."  I thought that she was jealous because I was interested in Jane, but that wasn't it.  THEN I thought that maybe she liked Jane, in a lesbian way, but that wasn't it.  I finally got her to talk with me about it and it turns out that she thinks that I'm going to come between her and Jane.  I guess if I only had one friend, I'd be territorial too. I don't see how a guy could come between two good friends, and I said so.  She seemed appeased, but not really happy.  Not like she's ever going to BE happy, so I guess for now it's not a problem.

Entry 64 

Jane insisted on my meeting her for her dumb Homecoming Parade.  I was not looking forward to hanging out with all of those Lawndale High idiots.  Whenever we run into people from her school, they look at me like I'm some kind of prize.  Whatever.  I'd rather not deal.  But Jane just had to go, something about taking Polaroids for an art project.  She takes that art shit so seriously.  I take studying seriously, but it's not like it defines me.  Jane is defined by being an artist. She can go on for hours about some 'piece' that she's working on.  I guess she's talented, but I don't see her making a living at it.  It's so pretentious.  

So anyway, I get down there and wait and wait and wait.  I run into Daria who wasn't even there for the parade, her Dad sent her on an errand.  Can you believe that no one in her family even knew it was homecoming?  So I hang out with Daria and some kid she used to baby-sit and we wander around.  I figured that as long as I was there, I could goof on it or something.  Daria got off some funny lines; I can see why she and Jane are friends.  I suppose that Jane needs someone like Daria if she's going to survive at Lawndale High.

We finally run into Jane, some mix up about where we were to meet.  Jane is flaky like that.  She says "the drugstore" but there are two of them on that street.  She didn't seem to care at all that I wasn't with her.  So why did she want me to come in the first place?  We started to fight about it, but then I figured, why?  Would I have had a better time if we _were_ together?  Probably not, so why get into a hassle? 

Just as we were heading to get a pizza, Daria got drenched in paint.  It was funny, but I knew better than to laugh.  I was hoping she'd come with us because then Jane would be less likely to try and get me into an argument.  She went home to change.  Jane and I tried to get a pizza but the place was packed.   She wanted to do something, but I was tired of the whole evening so we called it a night. 

Entry 78 

I'm in Jane's doghouse and I have no idea why.

Daria has been staying at Jane's because her house caught on fire and her family is staying at a hotel and...I don't really understand the rest, something about her sister and other girls, who can listen to that shit?   So she's hanging around.  Anyway Jane is involved in more of her art stuff.  You know how artists love to think that the muse has kidnapped them so they make this huge issue of being hard at work on something?  Jane did that.  She's welding, and I'm sitting downstairs because she forgot we had a date to go to the movies.  You know, something normal. So Daria and I start to talk.   

Jane starts asking me all of these questions.  Why am I with Daria?  Why am I late?  Why, why, why?  Where did that come from? You invited ME over.  You're ignoring ME!  Daria says she's getting the same thing too.  Jane is suspicious and saying all kinds of stuff.  

I think I'll just stay out of Jane's way right now.  She's freaking me out.

Entry 80 

The situation with Jane isn't getting better.  She seems more interested in talking about our 'relationship' than she is in just doing stuff.  I know that girls like to think about their boyfriends and how things are going, but honestly how much is there to say?  Does she think we need to be planning a wedding?  What is it that she wants?  Everything I say and do is wrong.  She's in such a bad mood all the time.

I think I'll see if Daria knows what the problem is.  

Entry 81 

I think I just fucked up in a major way.  I kissed Daria. 

I wanted to talk to her to see if she knew what the problem with Jane was.  It turns out that Daria is just as confused about it as I am.  So we're talking and Daria looks so sad.  There's something about a girl who's really close to crying, but is trying to hold it together.  They look brave and vulnerable at the same time.  I guess I was bummed out about Jane, it's obvious that we're breaking up and that sucks, and I see Daria ready to fall apart and I guess I just felt protective or something.  So I kissed her.

Boy was she pissed!  Then I kissed her again.  I'm not sure why.  I think because there was something thrilling about kissing her.  Not just 'forbidden fruit' but the fact that I know that I'm the first guy there.  Daria has NEVER been interested in guys and dating.  She's too intellectual for that.  So here I come and kiss her and BAM, she's just a normal girl all of a sudden.  All this time I just thought of Daria as this really, really smart girlfriend of Jane's and now she's a girl too.  

Daria isn't what you would call pretty.  She's not heinous looking, but you know that she's trying not to look like she cares about her looks. On some girls it's cute.  Like when they wear overalls.  That's cute, but it's not meant to be.  Or when they wear baseball caps with the ponytail sticking out.  It's pretty in a low maintenance way.   Daria is sort of the anti-pretty.  She's trying so hard not to be attractive that she's nearly invisible.  

So I kissed her.  Then she started cursing me and she flew out of the car.  I guess she didn't want to be kissed.  Or maybe she did.  Anyway the shit is going to hit the fan, one way or another.  

Entry 82 

Shit hitting the fan is putting it mildly.  I'll just cut to the chase and say that Jane and I broke up.  We said some things, then we took them back and suddenly I'm now supposed to be dating Daria.  Did I want to date Daria?  Maybe in some subliminal way I did.   I wonder if I can still be friends with Jane.  This is too weird.

Entry 88 

Chemistry is giving me all kinds of heartache.  All those valances and crap.  I know I can get this, I think I might need a tutor.

Daria and I are dating, but she doesn't want anyone to know.  Fine, like I care about anyone she knows.  For someone who is unpopular, she has an awful lot of social engagements.  For now if she goes, she goes alone. 

I figure if we're dating I'd like to actually do something.  Movie, bowling, out for pizza, but Daria doesn't want to have to deal with the people at her school.  I've met some of the people at her school and I don't blame her.  I guess Lawndale is too small for us to go out and not be noticed.  Personally I think she's obsessing too much.  Why would anyone care about who she dates?

The situation with Jane is at an all-time low.  Daria wants Jane to be her friend.  I wish she'd turn to me, because I don't think that Jane is the type to get over this situation in a hurry.  Not that I blame Jane.   To lose a boyfriend and a best friend at the same time, that's got to suck.  

Entry 93 

Daria is playing some kind of game.  She won't explain what's going on.  She is so high maintenance.  I try to help her with stuff, but she insists that she knows how to do...whatever.  Right.  Like she's got so much to show for all of her previous success.  Let's be honest, I've been in relationships before, she's still new to it.  I'm trying to make her comfortable with the concept but she resists everything.  She's great to talk with about stuff, she's given me some good ideas for papers, but she can't take advice or help, at all.  

I've got a new car, Dad had the Pinto towed away.  I'm thankful actually; I was always convinced that I'd go up like a Molotov Cocktail in that beast.  I've got Grandmother's Jag.  I hate how pretentious it is, but it's much better than the old car.  They threaten to buy me a Honda at graduation.  God, I hope not. 

Entry 100 

Daria won't talk to me.  I try to call but she just won't talk.  I don't know what's wrong with her.  Doesn't she know that I might not be around when she's ready for me?  Jane's out of town at some art colony.  It figures.  She's gone, just like all of her family.  They light out for parts unknown at the first sign of trouble.  I wonder what she's doing out there.  Daria wanted to talk with her before she left, but Jane was too busy sulking to hash anything out with Daria.  

Why are women so complicated?  Guys would never bother with all of this drama.

Entry 107 

So Daria and I are back together, if in fact we were ever together in the first place.  She's my girlfriend.  I suppose we should have dated first before "going steady" (as my Mom calls it, God is _she _ever annoying.)  Mom LOVES Daria.  She goes on and on about how great she is.  She even called Daria's parents to see if they wanted to come to some charity thing.  My Mom is so out of it.  No one wants to eat crappy food with fossils, except social climbers.  Daria's parents are lots of things, but social climbers they're not.  Only my Mom would think that they would want to go.  Daria was embarrassed and I'm sure her folks were too.  I don't know why Mom is so interested in my life.  It's like she's manipulating everything from on high. If I don't do what she wants she gives me this tolerant look and smiles.  Like at some point I'm going to see what it is that she sees.  

Entry 115 

Well summer is over and I'm glad.  Like I need Sturm und Drang like that.  I'm back at Fielding, got Comparative Religions this time out.  Most of the seniors have their college lined up so we can slack off on course selection now.  That's great because I don't think I could stand any more Latin. 

So Daria and Jane are friends again, and I'm friends with Jane by default.  It's good to be around her.  She really is interesting.  She talks incessantly about her art, but now that I don't have to act interested, I am.  There's some new confidence about her.  Like something happened over the summer and now she _knows_.   Knows _what _I can't say, but it's intriguing.  

Entry 118 

Apparently Daria and I were supposed to celebrate an anniversary.  She went around for a week moping and hinting.  Like I'm going to pick up on that behavior as an indication of a problem.  That's just her usual MO.  Why don't people just come out with what their problem is?  It turns out that Quinn, her sister put some bug in her ear about it.  People like Daria don't need to celebrate crap like anniversaries.  She finally realized that we didn't need to celebrate anything, which was good because she's impossible to buy for.  

Entry 135 

Daria wrote this short story and while I didn't get it, I could tell that it was good.  I told her that she should submit it to a magazine.  I mean, that would look good on her college applications, published author.  She resisted, which I took to mean that she wanted me to encourage her even more, so I did.  Well it turns out that they didn't want to publish her story.  She acted like I made her become a stripper or something.  I told her that the rejection was better than most rejection letters.  She bought that, thank God.  Jesus, if she plans on being a writer she needs to get a much thicker skin.

Entry 158 

Jane has a new boyfriend.  He's one of those swing dance posers.  Nathan.  Right, it's probably Nathaniel anyway, Nathan just sounds more retro.  Jane managed to find a trunk in the attic and she's got all of these outfits from the forties and fifties.  She looks amazing when she dresses up.  It's pissing Daria off, she thinks that Jane is just following along because it's what Nathan is interested in doing.  I would have thought that Daria would be happy that Jane had a boyfriend, since it lessens her guilt about having stolen me away from Jane, but it's like no one is good enough for Jane.  I suppose that I should be offended, because technically, **_I'm_** not good enough for Jane.  I wonder if Daria has doubts that I'm good enough for _her_.  Okay, that's just stupid. 

Entry 162 

Daria's doing her radio silence thing again.  Her family is having a crisis and she doesn't want me around.  I want to be there to support her, but she keeps avoiding me.  Do you know how many girls would love to have a sensitive and patient boyfriend like me to help them with their problems?  Daria doesn't appreciate me, or what I do for her.

Entry 176 

Daria is trying for a Wizard scholarship.  Talk about a day late and a dollar short.  If she needed scholarships she should have tried for some long before this.  I read up on the company and it's everything that Daria hates.  So why is she trying to get them to give her money?  She wrote this essay and they LOVED it. That should tell you right there that something isn't right.  There's some sort of regional competition, sort of a Miss America thing where the finalists have to go through an interview.  Here's my prediction:  Daria blows the interview.  Who doesn't see _that _coming? 

Entry 189 

Daria wants to sleep with me.  Wow.  You know, when you first have sex you think _GREAT_, now I'll have sex all the time.  But it doesn't work out that way.  You leave the Cove and all the girls from school who were willing before last summer, are suddenly paired up with your friends, so you don't have the opportunities you thought you had.  Then you start to wonder if you'll ever have sex again.  I admit that I didn't think that Daria would ever want sex.  I'm still not sure she does.  She's got this idea that we have to 'do it' to cement our relationship.  That's a bunch of shit, but if she wants to, I'm ready.  I just hope she doesn't think that we're going to get married just because we make love.

Entry 190 

Okay, now I'm pissed off.  I go through all of these machinations and she's a no-show.  I cleaned up, got some candles, I even bought roses.  The best part is that she wants to break up with me.  Where did that come from?  Was the thought of losing her virginity to me so repulsive?  Does she hate sex?  I'll bet that there's something Jane said, or her sister said, that put her up to this.  Well, I'm not taking this lying down.  I'm going over there to find out what this is about.

Entry 191 

Daria and I are back together.  It turns out that she's not ready.  I doubt that she's ever going to be ready.  I can't imagine her having sex.  I suppose that at some point she'll have to, but she's so stiff and reclusive that it seems improbable.  Anyway she thought that I wouldn't want to keep seeing her if we weren't having sex.  Like I'm some kind of animal or something.  I never really looked at Daria as a sex partner.  She's a great girlfriend, and I'd like to keep her through the summer, but I don't like to "play" that way so close to home. You know what they say, "don't shit where you eat." 

Entry 202 

The car's all loaded up and we're ready to hit the road.  Daria and I are going to Bromwell to seal the deal.  I'm not concerned; my whole family has gone there since it was built.  I don't know if Daria is the Bromwell type.  She's got the grades for sure, but I think they're looking for a well-rounded person at Bromwell.  It's not about test scores and grades, it's more about society and connections.  Not that I approve, that whole elitist attitude is stale and stuffy, but I don't have a choice.  I hope Daria gets in too, that will prove to her that I got in based on my merits, not my name.  

Entry 203 

This trip has been great!  Daria's interview was less than stellar, but I cinched mine.  We schmoozed around a bit, Mom saw her old friends.  Daria seemed edgy and uncomfortable.  The whole time we were at Bromwell she seemed fixated on seeing the other schools.  Why?  

Entry 206 

I've been dumped.  I don't get it.  Me?!?  Daria decided that it's time for us to split up. She even said, "We're getting bored."  I think that's what I said to Jane.  How could she be bored with me?  I'm the one who did all the work in the relationship.  I helped her with all of her problems.  I prodded her to do things she was too timid to do.  I even tried to get her into Bromwell.  I'll bet she holds it against me that she didn't get in.  She's going to Raft in Boston.  Raft.  It's a good school, but it's not Bromwell.  I can tell that she thinks that I got in because of my name, not because of my work.  God that pisses me off.  She's got reverse snobbery.  She thinks that she's better than I am because she got into a school based only on her grades and test scores.  Well, that's all well and good, but there are other things that matter in this world.  It's not like I wanted to be with Daria forever, but I had planned on spending the summer with her.  Now I don't have a girlfriend and I'm not likely to get one for just a couple of months.  Damn!

Entry 215 

It's been a while since I've updated this.  Not like anyone reads it anyway.  I'm up at Bromwell and things are going okay.  It sure is a lot harder to study and get good grades here.  I remember at Fielding I could just dash off any old thing and the teachers thought it was great.  Not here.  They have standards.  I'm really surprised by the amount of work that's required.  Most of the guys I know have resigned themselves to "the gentleman's C" and they just concentrate on their social lives.  I'm not ready to give in yet, but all of this work is oppressive.  

At first I was living in the dorms.  I had this roommate, Crispin Oswald.  One of the Newport Oswalds (thanks Mom.)  At any rate, Crispin seemed to have dedicated himself to debauchery and drunkenness on a grand scale.  Not much of a change from Choate apparently.  So I'd be in the room studying or sleeping and he'd have some bimbo in there, right in front of me.  I didn't have much choice; my folks weren't ready to spring for a single, unless it was in the Frat.  Dad has been on me to go Greek, not just any Greek, but his Greek, DEKE, Delta Kappa Epsilon.  I pretty much felt that I'd do just about anything to get out of the dorm, and that resolve was tested.  I'm good enough to oil through any machinery and as a legacy pledge I didn't think that I would be turned away.  So now I'm a DEKE with all that entails.  I'm the world's most half-assed DEKE, but "Friends from the heart forever," and all that shit.  

At first I spent my time trying to fit in.  This is a huge place.  I'm used to a certain amount of prestige being associated with my name.  Imagine my being asked if I'm related to the guy who invented those automatic, flushing toilets at the airport.  

I've got my private room, unfortunately private doesn't mean much on Friday nights around here.  We've got a party every weekend and the guys manage to fill the place with girls.  I think they bus them in from Sweet Oak, because frankly I can't imagine that a female Bromwell student would be seen within five yards of the frat house.  Lately we've been overrun by Tri-Delts.  The guys love them because they are "fun."  If "fun" means easy, they are right.  

Last year was just depressing.  I missed everything about my old life.  I was so psyched to come up here to study, but after Crispin and the Frat my whole idea of the Ivy League has been shot to hell.  

Frankly I keep thinking about my failed relationship.  I think about Lawndale and how I had magic and didn't know it until it was gone.  I see her face in my dreams, her shy, private smile, just for me.  I can't believe that I let the one woman who really understood me just slide out of my life like that.  She said that we could stay friends and that we could compare notes on college life.  I think I'm going to take her up on it.

Entry 216 

I'm shocked.  I can't believe what I just did, and what just happened.  I'm typing this from an Internet cafe and I think that until it's all down that I won't understand it.

I got into my car (yes the Honda, an Accord, as expensive as a BMW, without the cachet, perfect for a Slone) and headed up to Boston.  I should have been looking at the fall foliage, but I couldn't concentrate on that.  All I could think about was her.  In my mind she was going to be as thrilled to see me as I would be to see her.  I imagined how we would meet.  I'd surprise her on campus, or better yet in front of her dorm.  It would be better if some of her new friends could see her romantic ex-boyfriend make this grand gesture.  I bought a dozen red roses somewhere along the way and the fragrance filled the car.

I barely remember stopping for gas, I just glided into town and toward the campus.  I checked the address that I had and I sat on a bench in front of her building to see what would happen next.  I got my phone out and dialed her number.  It rang a few times, but there was no answer.  She must be at class.  I figured that she had to come home at some point and it was close to dinnertime.  I know that she hates to miss a meal.  

I thought I could see her in the distance.  That thin figure walking towards me with her portfolio.  God, she looked good.  Her hair was long and curly and her lips were just as crimson as I remembered.

"Jane!"  I jumped up off the bench and waved, to catch her attention.  She stopped where she was, I could swear that she looked like she might walk in the other direction, but she came towards me.

"Tom.  What are you doing here?"  She set her stuff down and stood by the bench.

"I came to see you."  I wanted to let it all out.  How I missed her.  How I thought about her all the time.  How much I regretted all the bad stuff that happened between us.  

"Uh-huh."  She waited.  I thought it was obvious, but I figured that she was going to milk it for all it's worth.  I handed her the roses, she took them like they were snakes. 

"I've missed you."  I moved in to give her a kiss, but she pushed me away.

"I don't think my boyfriend would like that very much.  In fact I don't think **_I_** would like that very much."  

"Boyfriend?"  It hit me right in the gut.  She had a boyfriend.  

"Yes.  And he's big and mean and plays hockey.  So why exactly are you here?"  She was so hostile. 

I didn't know what to say.  It never occurred to me that she might have a new boyfriend.  "Jane, I know that I'm the last person you expected to see, but I wanted you to know that I still love you and that I want you just as much as I ever did."  I figured that if I told her why I was there, why I traveled all that way; that she would understand.

She gaped at me for a second.   "You're kidding."  

"No, really.  I still love you."  I smiled at her, to reassure her.

What she said to me next will ring in my ears forever.  "Tom, that's a shame, because I don't love you.  I don't even think about you.  One of the happiest days of my life was the day that Daria broke up with you so that I could put you behind me forever."  She picked up her stuff, like that was all that she was going to say to me.

"Jane, don't go.  Let's go talk about this.  I can understand why you're angry, but I think that we can work this out."  I stuck my hands in my pockets to warm them.

"Jesus, you don't get it." She sighed, "I never want to see you again.  I don't want to stay friends.  That is something that polite people say, but don't mean.  I don't want to discuss this, because I am not interested.  At all.  I'm cold and tired and much too smart for your bullshit."  

The next thing I knew she had gone inside, leaving the roses in a heap on the quad.  I saw two guys that looked like they could be art students, or heroin addicts, sniggering at me.  But I couldn't move.  I just stood there watching, waiting for her to change her mind.  I knew that if I waited long enough that she would come out and we could work it out.  

I don't know how long I was there but a tall, blond guy came up to me and asked me what I was doing.  "I'm just waiting for someone."  It's a good standard answer.

"Well, if you're waiting for Jane Lane I suggest that you wait someplace else, like Connecticut."  He gave me a dark, menacing look.  I realized that this must be her boyfriend, or a guy posing as her boyfriend.  I was thinking of a response when a familiar voice whispered in my ear.

"Hey Tom."  I turned and saw Trent's familiar face.  Relief washed over me, I know that Trent likes me.  

"Hey Trent.  Maybe you could help me out.  I'm trying to get Jane to talk to me."  

He shook his head slowly, he does everything slowly, "I think she's pretty clear about not wanting to talk to you. You need to move on."  

"Huh?"  I didn't understand.  Why wouldn't they let me talk to Jane?

"I put up with you for a long time.  I listened to you try to make my sister into someone that you could bring home to your Mom.  I was there the day you guys broke up. I'm not a violent man, but I can't say the same for Joe here," he indicated the other guy, "Tom, you probably don't mean to be an asshole, but you are.  You've been asked nicely to leave. You've got a minute to get out of here, after that, neither of us can be held responsible for our actions."

I couldn't believe it, Trent was threatening me. I thought Trent liked me.  I didn't say a word, but I just walked off in the direction of my car.  They both watched me as I left.  Talking, sharing some confidence, some information, probably about me.  I looked through the windshield hoping to see Jane running toward me at the last minute.  I dialed her number again, praying that she would pick up and let me explain, but it went to voice mail.  I didn't leave a message.  

I drove away, past Trent and the other guy.  They didn't even acknowledge me.  

So I'm sitting here, frozen.  I wonder if I'll ever thaw.  I've got a mug of coffee and a few more minutes on this computer.  How can I leave Boston without Jane?  Without hope?


	16. Brought to you by the Letter F

**The Other F Word**

**By Ruthless Bunny**

Daria made her way into the kitchen.  Her mouth was parched and she wanted to get a cool drink.  Nearly sleepwalking she got a glass out of the cabinet and went to the behemoth refrigerator door for a glass of cool water.  She drank half of it in one gulp and spilled the rest into the sink.  The sink, not liking this development, shrieked in chagrin, "MEOW! MEOW! MEOW!"  Except that it wasn't the sink, it was Joyce IN the sink, and in her pique she jumped up and ran complaining upstairs.  

No longer in that twilight between sleep and wakefulness, but fully wakeful, Daria contemplated her day.  Lately her Thursdays were giving her grief.  Tuesdays too.  It seemed that her misery centered around Renaissance Literature, specifically, Professor Mathis. She felt panic in the pit of her stomach and resigned herself to another confusing lecture.

Daria was excited about her schedule.  In her freshman year she managed to get through most of her core courses and now she was able to concentrate on those in her major.  She had Satire with a charming old English gentleman who spoke of Juvinal and P.G. Wodehouse. Her Victorian Poetry class held her spellbound as the works of Tennyson, Morris and Arnold were discussed at length.  She enjoyed the afternoons in the old theater exploring Jazz in America.  Her French class was taught by a charming lady from Nice, who had a hilarious contempt for Parisian French and wasn't afraid to demonstrate the differences in pronunciation. The fly in the ointment was Renaissance Literature.  And Professor Mathis.

Professor Mathis dressed the part, baggy flannel trousers, corduroy jacket and a perpetual air of smugness. He'd glide into class a minute late, just to let them know who was boss.  If you couldn't beat him into class, it was better to skip it all together, rather than incur his wrath at interrupting his brilliant lecture.  The lecture must be brilliant, for Daria was completely at a loss.  On the first day she attempted to take notes, but found that it was impossible.  His thoughts were not cohesive.  They led nowhere.  He'd start up a street and end up in a blind alley.  It didn't help that everyone in the class feverishly scribbled and scratched to capture the cascade of his wisdom, everyone except for Daria, who had given up in frustration.   

The first weeks of the class found it crowded.  Every seat was taken, but as the class progressed more and more seats became vacant.  Daria couldn't understand why the others had dropped the class.  It was far too late to select another class, so those leaving preferred to get no credit, rather than remain in the class.  

Daria sighed and decided that an angry cat was a bad omen, especially when the results of the first quiz were due back.  She dressed quickly and ran to catch the bus.  She couldn't afford to be late.  

Daria nodded at some of the other students in her class.  She sat to the side with a girl from Arizona and a guy from New York.  They had occasionally met in the hallway after class, trying to ascertain what exactly it was that the professor had discussed for the last ninety minutes.  

The test had been a bear.  They had never been given reading assignments, but were instructed to read the entire textbook at the start of the class.  Daria started at the beginning and proceeded towards the end, but the professor did not lecture in that order.  He often would start off with historical anecdotes, issues and concerns of the Renaissance Englishman.  Daria found these observations fascinating, and she'd listen, drinking it all in.  She was exceedingly disappointed to discover that none of this information was related to any of their reading, nor was it on the test.

The test was a series of essay questions, to be written in a blue book, regarding critical evaluation of certain parts of the text. The only problem was that these issues were never covered in lecture, nor were they in the text, but apparently only available to those who sought extra enlightenment in the stacks of the library, where a mere 800 or so books were available on the subject.  

Daria slunk into her seat and waited to see how her answers were received.  Daria had never questioned what her grade might be.  She inevitably got A's on her other tests in the other English classes.  Occasionally, she was blindsided with a series of questions she hadn't anticipated, but she immediately looked them up after class so that she could understand where she went wrong.  Not so with Professor Mathis.  

After the exam she tried to discuss the questions with others in the class, but they weren't open to her probing.  It was as though they had the key, but they didn't want to share with her.  She tried to discover the genesis of his questions in the text, but to no avail.  Daria's indefinable feeling was panic; she just didn't recognize it in this context, because in her whole life she never had cause to panic in an academic situation. 

"I'm sure you are all eager to discover what grades you _earned_ on your tests," Mathis threw the test booklets on his lectern, "although why, I have no idea.  Really, is no one a scholar anymore?"  His eyes scanned the room and Daria felt that they lingered on her an uncomfortably long time. "There were a scant few of you who seemed to understand the material, but really, the rest of you, what are you thinking?"  He brushed aside the booklets, to ostensibly be handed back at the end of class, and proceeded to deliver a lecture on the Faerie Queen, that danced around the expectations of the class, but never really touched upon them. 

Finally, after ninety minutes steeped in allegory and magic, none of which really had anything to do with what Spenser had written, Professor Mathis deigned to hand back the tests.  Instead of the usual neutral, detachment that accorded this procedure, Mathis broke with tradition and offered commentary along with the blue book.

"Sir, some very good thinking there, you just need to learn how to manipulate the language better.  Is English your major?"  He asked a serious looking young man in the front row.

He smiled kindly at a young lady in a pink angora sweater set, "I see what you were driving at, but I think you need to spend more time with the text."

He delivered each student's book in that manner.  Daria noted that he started off nicely and was increasingly and disturbingly derisive, "Went to a party the evening before the test I take it?"  As the blue book slid across the desk of Daniel, the guy from New York.  Daria could see the 69% in the corner, in bleeding red ink.  She sucked in her breath.  Hers was on the bottom of the pile, the absolute last to be passed back.

"Ms. Morgendorffer is it?  Strange name, is your family German perchance?"  He seemed strangely kind and interested; Daria shook her head in the negative.  "Aha, then English _is_ your first language."  Considering that there were few syllibants, he managed to hiss the entire sentence. "Well, then I just don't know."  He dropped the test on her desk as though contact with it for another moment might rob him of a modicum of luminosity.

Daria knew without opening the booklet what the grade was, but she was compelled.  All of her life she judged herself by her grades.  Grades defined her.  Daria Morgendorffer, A student.  Daria Morgendorffer, high GPA.  Daria Morgendorffer...she peered into the booklet...failure.  

50%, an F.  

Daria could feel her stomach roil and tears burning behind her eyes.  An F.  Her first F.  She...failed.  Miserably.  Not even a high F, but such a low score as to make even the 50 points she did get seem a gift.  

Daria looked up, hoping to catch his eye, but Mathis had already moved towards the door, as a priest might leave a confessional to allow a particularly sinful penitent time to say her Hail Marys and Our Fathers in shameful private.   

He was gone before she could say anything.  She mustered her nerve to look into the booklet again, for the clues that would allow her to rise above her disgrace.  She read through her words, and although they were crossed out in red pen, there was no commentary at all.  Just red scribbles obliterating her thoughts.  

In the hallway the remainder of the class was comparing notes.  Daniel was convinced that his 69% would eventually be brought up to a C.  Tasha, received a 76%, she was relieved.  The two were discussing a study session in the library that evening.  Daria stood on the edge of their conversation, waiting to be included. They both nodded to her, but didn't address her directly.  Their message was clear.  The F student was not welcome in their study group.  

This was a first for her.  At Lawndale, she was an outcast, but there she was an outcast among stupid people, now she was an outcast among the best and the brightest.  A place she always considered to be her birthright, and her F guaranteed her exile.  She might as well have had a large F embroidered on her sweater.  F, for Failure.

Daria went to work.  She tried to draft the notices for the newspaper and to prepare her statement for the Student Council, but her mind kept going back to her F.  Daria enjoyed the creative aspects of her job, but how long would she be able to keep it?   Could Daria retain her position if she flunked a class?  What if she were fired?  What if she were expelled. What if she had to go back to _LAWNDALE_?!?

Stephanie, the unit secretary, a "redhead and a half" as she referred to herself, noticed that she seemed depressed.  "Not that you've got a bubbly personality as a rule, but today you look positively dejected.  Is anything wrong?"  Stephanie offered Daria some M&M's, thinking that it might be a chocolate deficiency that was causing her wretchedness.

"No thanks.  I just have a lot on my mind right now."  Daria erased a paragraph from her statement.  Nothing she wrote now seemed to be worthy of even a third-rate student council meeting.  

"I guess _so_.  Why don't you take off?  You've certainly put in enough time this week and Dr. Bamman is out of the office for the rest of the afternoon schmoozing the alumni at that luncheon, I'm only staying because my husband can't pick me up until five."  She popped a few more candies into her mouth and smiled.  

Daria gathered her things, "I'm useless anyway.  Maybe I'll feel better tomorrow."  

"Whatever it is, don't brood.  Have fun tonight!"  Stephanie waved as Daria walked through the oaken door, but she wasn't going home, she was going to the library.

On Friday night, Daria finally connected with Trent.  She had been craving a hug from him.  She thought that he might be able to squeeze the feeling of catastrophe from her.   As they ate their pasta she showed him the blue book.

"Look, this is the worst grade I have ever received in my life, I've never, _never_, done so badly on a test."  She handed it to him as she toyed with her fettuccini.  

He leafed slowly through it.  He read what she wrote, although it made no sense to him.  He shrugged his shoulders.  "I don't know.  I guess I don't understand the subject."

"I guess I don't either."  Daria stared at her bowl.  The noodles didn't tempt her as they usually did, the cream sauce seemed to congeal in her stomach.

"Hey, if you don't want that, I'll eat it.  I don't know what starving yourself is going to do for your grades though." She pushed to bowl towards him and he began to eat her portion.

"Trent, I try and I try.  I spent three hours at the library, trying to see if he's getting this stuff from some other source.  I looked at book after book and I can't find it.  Everything I know about studying and note-taking and being a student just doesn't work."  She heaved a great sigh. It made her feel better momentarily.  As though all the stress and panic and sickness could be blown out of her.  

"Daria, this is stupid.  You and this guy just don't click.  Maybe he's an asshole. Just drop the class, it can't be worth all of this grief."  He looked at her with concern, he hated to see her so miserable.

"Drop the class?  I can't just drop the class.  That's the easy way out.  If I deserve my place at Raft, I have to earn it for real.  I have to pass this class.  If I just drop this class that means that I gave up, that I'm a fraud, that I have no right to be here."  She wiped her eyes quickly, not permitting the moisture to form into tears.

Trent shook his head.  "That's crazy.  Of course you deserve your place.  It's just one guy.  Hell, you tutored people in English. You helped Mike pass his classes.  Daria, no matter what you do, you know that you're good at English.  Why are you letting this jerk tell you what you can and can't do?"  

"You don't understand; he's a Professor.  Tenured.  At Raft.  He won the Pollard Award.  He's brilliant, and learned and he knows a failure when he sees one."   Daria snurfled.

"That is such a load.  Even if you sucked at this particular subject, you don't suck universally.  Are you failing any other classes?"  Daria shook her head.  "Are all of your other grades A's?"  Daria nodded.  "Then what is this all about?  YOU are the brilliant one.  You do great at everything.  Not just English."

"That's what makes this so bad.  I could have had that math fellowship, or I could be on my way to being a doctor..."

Trent interrupted her, "You never really wanted to be a doctor."

"That's not the point, the point is that I decided to major in English and I'm failing!"

"You are not, and you know it.  You're just freaking out because you've never failed at anything in your life.  You don't know how to handle it."  He said authoritatively.

"How do I handle it, a bowl and a brew?"  Daria's sarcasm carried too much of a bite.

"Harsh," he acknowledged the slight, "but sometimes an altered reality is good for you.  Especially when you find yourself flipping out over what one person out of about one thousand people thinks about you."  Trent touched her hand.

"I'm sorry, maybe you're right."  She squeezed to let him know that she understood him.

"Margarita then?"  He smiled.

"Why not, those brain cells aren't doing me any good anyway."  

***

Tuesday found Daria back in class, much to Professor Mathis's obvious surprise.  She made a concerted effort to take notes. He wended his way through Marlowe, but not to great success.  Daria tried to diagram her notes, using different colored highlighters.  Pink for historical relevance, green for literary relevance, and blue for wild-assed comments that might connect to something, if only she could discover the Rosetta Stone from which his lectures might be translated.  Her notebook was covered in blue. 

After class she followed him to his office.  He held his office hours after class.  She waited while he nattered away on the phone for about ten minutes.  Something about a summer lecture tour in the Berkshires.  He turned his attention to her.  "So what can I do for you?"

Daria summoned her courage.  He was an imposing person, musty with tobacco and condescension. "I'm not happy with my grade and I was hoping that you might direct me to some study aids."  

He held out his hand for her blue book, as though he had actually forgotten that he delivered the grade that destroyed a promising young student.  He flipped through her work.  "It just doesn't answer the questions."  He gave it back to her.

"I understand that, but what _did_ answer the questions?"  She studied him earnestly, hoping that he would finally clue her into his secret, hoping that she could discover what it was she needed to do to pass his class.

"It took more analysis, I was looking for a deeper understanding of the material."  He got a peppermint from the huge glass jar on his desk.  He did not offer one to her.  

Daria waited for him to finish, eager for the information, but apparently he had none to give.

"Ms. Morgendorffer, what is your major?"  He asked, although he knew that only the hardcore English majors remained.

"English."  She thought it would be deadly to elaborate.

"Hmmm.  Have you considered other majors?"  He rolled the peppermint around in his mouth.

Daria's ire rose, she wanted to prove to him that she had talent, she had promise, she had amazing test scores.  "I was considering pre-med, but I like English."  She waited to see how he took that.

"I can see you as a doctor."  Cutting.  He knew _exactly_ what he was saying. 

"Is there nothing you can suggest?"  She was desperate and if she had to eat this jerk's crap, then she would do that.  She would do _anything_ to pass this course.

He held up his hands. "Sorry."  With that he got back to the important rummaging that she had so rudely interrupted. 

***

Daria went through her days in a blur.  Nothing seemed to matter aside from the class.  On Wednesday in her Satire class, kindly Dr. Bell asked her, "Ms. Morgendorffer, you seem unhappy, is there anything I can do?"

It struck Daria that here was a professor who actually wanted to help her, but she was so ashamed of her poor performance that she couldn't bring herself to tell him about her problem.  "No, thank you Dr. Bell, I'm fine."  She managed a wan smile.

"Well my dear, if there's anything I can do."  He held the door for her as she left the class.

On Thursday she found herself back in Ren Lit.  Upon arrival she was handed a list.  There were twenty-five items on it.  Item thirteen was: Foxes Martyrs.  She studied it.  There were strange sentences, book titles, people all having something to do with Renaissance literature or that time period.  

Mathis stood at his lectern.  "You are all in possession of what I like to call my 'scavenger hunt.'  You will research and comment on all of these items.  This project will comprise one third of your grade.  Those who have been successful in the past have worked in groups.  It's quite a bit of research for just one person."  Here he seemed to glare meaningfully at Daria.  She squirmed under his scrutiny.

Daria looked over the list again.  It was impossible.  Some of the names were obvious, like Inigo Jones, but what exactly could be the importance?  He was an architect, to Daria's knowledge he made no contribution to literature.  She broke out in a cold sweat.  She was already failing the project.  She looked around the room.  All of the students had arranged themselves into work groups.  She looked towards Daniel and Tasha, but they were working with other people.  Daria couldn't bring herself to beg to be let into a group.  Daria remembered when people WANTED her to work with them.  Daria remembered when she shouldered the burden of work and others slacked off and took credit at the end.  Had she turned into Kevin Thompson?

That night she had a dream.  She had arrived at the library to research the list.  All of the other groups were there, working diligently.  Periodically she'd hear the sounds of discovery echoing through the stacks.  Daria wondered why she wasn't moving from her table in the middle of the library when she looked down.  Although she was wearing a Raft sweatshirt, she had managed to get to the library without anything on from the waist down.  She knew she had to make a decision.  Should she go home and put on some pants, or should she run to the bookstore to buy something to wear?  Although she knew that she was dreaming, and that all she had to do was wake up and her dilemma would be solved, she was desperate to stay in the library so that she could chip away at the mountain of work that the 'scavenger hunt' represented.  Daria woke at two in the morning.  Her heart pounded and she couldn't get The Ketchup Song out of her mind.  She turned on Scooby-Doo and tried to doze until daybreak.  

She stared blankly at her terminal for an hour, moving the mouse periodically to keep the toasters from flying across her screen.  Stephanie went out for a lunch run and was still gone nearly forty minutes.  Dr. Bamman went looking for her and noticed Daria.  

"Hey Daria, how are the press releases coming?"  It was an innocent question, meant to open a conversation, rather than an expectation of output.

Daria jerked up and saw the department chair hovering over her screen.  She was busted.  "I'm having a bit of a problem."

"I can see that, but I don't think it's something simple like a press release.  Come keep me company until my tuna sandwich gets here."  She indicated that Daria should join her in her office.

Daria walked into her office, dreading the inevitable.  Fired from her job.  Expelled from school. Humiliated.

The department chair motioned for Daria to sit and poured her a cup of tea.  "You look dreadful, whatever could have you so discombobulated?"

Daria thought that she was being dismissed; she was shocked to realize that Dr. Bamman had no idea of what had been happening.  It had to come out sometime, Daria inhaled, hoping that the breath would help steady her nerves.  "It's Renaissance Lit, I'm failing."  She waited for Dr. Bamman's lecture.  About sticking to something, about applying herself, about filling in the blank where her intellect should be. 

"Let me guess, Mathis."  Dr. Bamman laughed as she said it.

"Yes." Daria said miserably.  "I'm failing his class."  She hung her head; she could not look her boss in the eye.

"You poor thing, he can be a trial.  So why don't you drop his class?"  The department chair stirred her tea.  "After all, he's not the only one who teaches it.  I think Lisa Ramsey's teaching it next term and she's a hoot.  You'll love her."  

Daria was astonished.  Drop the class?  

"Don't look so shocked, you'll make me feel my age."  Dr. Bamman was a young fifty, slim and elegant, with silvery blond hair.  

"Drop the class?"  

"Absolutely.  Carl Mathis is the biggest asshole I've ever had the pleasure, or rather displeasure of knowing."  

"But he's been here..." Daria started.

"Yes, he's an institution.  From back in the days when women were supposed to toy with English Lit degrees until we could get our MRS."

"MRS?"  Daria was unfamiliar with the acronym.

"Mrs. Missus?  You know, a husband?  My goodness, I guess that expression is a bit dated.  Thank God."  She offered sugar to Daria who gratefully added two lumps.

"You don't like him?"  Daria drank her tea; it tasted better than anything she ever drank in her life.

"I positively loathe him. You should see us at staff functions.  We just glare at one another. He's still seething over my appointment to department chair.  Does my heart good to see it."

"So why is he still here?"

"Tenure.  There's no way to get rid of him.  Besides, he's got some bit of prestige from that stupid award he won...when was it...about twenty-five years ago?  So I tolerate him, and pray that he'll take it into his head to retire soon.  I heard he had an offer to go to Arizona State University.  I was hoping he'd prefer a warmer climate, but so far, nothing."  She sipped her tea and patted Daria on the hand.  "I had no idea you were taking a class with him.  I should have warned you. Have Stephanie give you a drop slip, I'll sign it before you leave today."  

And that was it.  Daria walked out into the sun.  It may have been a cold, drizzly, gray day in Boston, but in Daria's world the sun shone.

When Daria arrived home Joyce greeted her at the door, "Meow!"  She danced a bit in a circle, it was as though Joyce caught Daria's happiness and wanted to share it with her.

Trent entered was in the living room watching his usual Friday afternoon line up.  "Hey Daria!"  

She kissed him on the forehead and walked into the kitchen.  "I'm starving!  What do we have to eat?"

He stood in the doorway, watching her grab at immediately edible things in the fridge.  "I'm guessing something good happened at school."

"Trent, you'll never believe it, you were right!"  Daria was simultaneously eating a banana and drinking chocolate milk.

"I can be right every now and then."  

"That's not what I mean.  You were right about Professor Mathis.  He's an asshole.  Dr. Bamman said so.  I dropped the class.  I don't have to deal with it any more.  I can just take the classes I like."  Her relief and joy was radiating off of her.  

Trent smiled to see her in a better frame of mind. "So you can't take my word for it?  You have to go to a Ph.D?"  He affected being insulted.

"Well, why should I believe you?  You don't have to deal with college and professors and things like that.  I needed someone who really understood the situation to tell me what to do."  She chugged the milk directly from the carton.

"I'm glad that you've solved your problem.  It's nice to see you happy again."  He ignored her comment.  One day he'd have to set her straight about his academic career.  "Tell you what.  I don't think you're going to get far on that banana.  How about I take you for a nice Jambalaya?"

"Sounds good, I'm starving.  While were there, can you get me a nice cocktail too?  Sometimes I just need to turn my brain off."  She kissed him.  "Oh, that's even better.  Bartender, I think I'll have another one."  They kissed again, and in that moment, life was perfect. 


	17. Bonzo Goes To College

**Bonzo Goes to College**

**By Ruthless Bunny**

"No...Absolutely not...No way...No...No...No...You're kidding...No...I know, but...No...Not if I was the last tutor on earth...But Mom...No...No..._How much_?  Fine, but only an hour or so a day, it's not fair to me...that's the deal...he's on his own, right?  You owe me.  She owes me too.  When does he arrive?  I suppose we have to get him at the airport?  Of course.  He'll be driving up.  Don't call until next week, I'm furious with you."  Daria hung up with her mom.  She stared at the phone.

Trent looked up from his book.  "Twelve no's.  I don't think your mom gets more than two no's before most people cave.  So what have you committed to?"

"You wouldn't believe it if I told you.  I don't even believe it.  I left Lawndale to get away from idiots.  Certainly we have plenty of idiots in Boston, we don't need to import them from Lawndale."  She sighed. "Kevin Thompson is coming here so that I can tutor him."  She flopped on the sofa next to him.  "Hold me, my nightmares are coming true."

He gave her a squeeze.  "Seriously, what was that about?"

"I _am _being serious.  Apparently Kevin is having major problems with passing the GED.  He is also having problems finding and retaining employment.  His mother twisted my mother's arm.  My mother twisted MY arm and now he's coming here to live and I am to tutor him until he can pass the GED."  She shook her head, "I may be tied to Kevin Thompson for years.  Urg!"  

"Look on the bright side..." Trent began, "Uh...I'm sure there's a bright side."  

"There is a tidy sum of money, one hundred dollars a week.  It's not enough."  She shuddered.

"If he's as dumb as you say, at least it's job security."  He hugged her and she rested her head on his shoulder.

"Sisyphus had job security." 

***

Kevin arrived on a cold, clear day.  He reached into the back of the Jeep for his two suitcases.  Kevin seemed different.  Certainly without the trappings of the Lawndale Lions he just looked like an ordinary guy, but the was something else missing, the swagger.

The settled Kevin into the guest room, temporarily.  The plan was for Kevin to find work, find an apartment and to work with Daria in the evenings so that he could pass the test for the GED.  

"Hey Daria, thanks for leaving this newspaper in my room.  The first thing I've got to do is get a job."  He studied the tiny type of the classified ads.  

"Well, what kind of job are you looking for?"  She tried to be helpful, he seemed to be working at being a nice guy, instead of the jerk he had been in school.

"I don't know.  I guess food or something.  I don't think construction sites are hiring now.  I'm also not in the union, and my dad was saying that up here you HAVE to be in the union.  What do _you_ think I should do?"  

"Well...weren't you working at Cluster Burger?"  She tired to guide him into something he could actually apply for and get, instead of setting him up for more failure.  

"Yeah, that was okay, but I don't think they have Cluster Burger up here.  Besides, my mom doesn't want me to get too comfortable in fast food."  He continued to look at the ads.

Daria thought that Mrs. Thompson was being unrealistic.  "I can understand that, but you've got to start somewhere."  

"Well, I'll go out tomorrow and check out the neighborhood.  Maybe there's something close by.  What's on TV?"  He looked hungrily at the complex satellite remote.

She threw it over to him. "I've got homework, watch whatever you want.  Be advised though, you'll have to fight Trent over the game shows later."  

"Thanks Daria.  For everything."  He seemed sincere.

"No problem Kevin."  She went upstairs to tackle her reading.  "I'll see you at dinner."

"Okay."  He was transfixed by SportsCenter.

When Daria came down to start dinner, both Trent and Kevin were taking turns trying to guess the puzzle on Wheel of Fortune.  

"China service for eight."  Trent said, with only a few of the letters displayed.

"How did you get that Bro?" Kevin furrowed his brow trying to see if the answer was possible.  "Wow.  You should go on this show."  

"I just seem to get them.  It's a gift."  Trent watched to see how much money the contestant won on just that one puzzle.

Daria was disturbed by how similar they both seemed.  Each was anchoring a section of the sofa; each was drinking a can of soda.  Daria remembered; Trent was the one with a job.  She went into the kitchen to heat up some spaghetti sauce and pasta.  

As much as she hated to admit it, one of the things she inherited from her dad was his love of cooking.  At first she resisted, but she found herself sucked into the Food Network.  Now, as she put together a simple marinara sauce, Daria contemplated how someone who grew up on frozen lasagna and take out chicken, managed to develop an appreciation for Italian crushed tomatoes.  

Daria set the table and served dinner.  They ate as Kevin tried to decide where to go the following day.  

"Well, I'll drive around here and see if anyone is hiring.  Then, once I get a job, or at least some applications, then I can find an apartment."  He seemed to think that Boston was just an extension of Lawndale, a place you could drive around in about an hour, get the lay of the land, and then things would start to fall into his lap.  Of course, nearly everything did fall into his lap, so why should he think otherwise?

Trent forked some salad and chewed thoughtfully. "You know Kevin, you should come with me tonight.  Maybe some of the guys at the pub could hook you up with a gig."  

"Awesome!  And I could watch the band too."  He dug into his food with gusto.  "Wow, my mom was right, Boston _is_ full of opportunity." 

At the pub it was still early.  Carol was behind the bar, stocking everything when Trent and Kevin walked in.  "Trent!  I'm glad you're here.  Before you set up can you help me out?  I need some ice from the back."

"Sure thing.  Where's Randy?"  Trent headed in the back where the ice machine was with the five-gallon bucket.  A minute or so later he was back pouring the crescents of ice into the bin.

"Randy took off with Rayna."  She exhaled Salem smoke; he coughed. 

"Brutal.  How's Jesse taking it?"  Trent looked around to see if she needed anything else.  "Kevin.  Go back in that room back there," he indicated the storeroom, "Bring a case of Bud and a case of Lite."

"Sure thing, Trent!"  Kevin hopped to it, eager to have something to do.

"Well, he ain't brokenhearted if that's what you're asking.  If you want my opinion, he's well rid of her.  She's a bad bit of business."  She mopped the water from the ice off the ancient oak bar. "Of course I'm down a bar-back."  She said this slowly, as Kevin emerged from the storeroom carrying a case of bottled beer on each shoulder.

"Where do you want these?"  He smiled with pride.

Carol pointed to the refrigerated bins. "Honey, you don't by any chance need a job, do you?"  

"Yeah! You know where I can get one?"  He carefully stocked the beer.

She smiled and took him back to the office.

Trent watched Kevin throughout the night.  He sported a new pub T-shirt and he seemed to work hard.  He even knew to keep Carol's Salem's lit and the coffee fresh.  The band was out in the back alley, breathing fresh, cold air and talking about Rayna.

"So Jesse, tough break."  Trent cuffed him on the shoulder.

"Naw, we were kind of over anyway, she just needed a place to live.  It was convenient."  He brushed his hair out of his face.  

"So she's cleared out completely?"  It didn't seem possible.  When Rayna moved in with Jesse, she brought a truckload of junk with her, including two cats, Harold and Maude.

"Not hardly.  She left almost everything, including the kitties.  Actually, I'm pretty happy she left the cats.  Randy said that they were going to Colorado to start over.  What kind of dipshit goes to Colorado?  I don't think either of them skis."  He scratched his head and raked his finger through his tangled locks.

"So you've got an empty bed?"  Trent formed an idea.

"Yeah.  We were thinking of advertising for a roommate, you know, having some idiot pay us $500.00 a month to stay with us."  He saw Trent's scowl.  "You'd get your cut.  There wouldn't be a place, if you weren't living with Daria."  

"Yeah, but I think I know who you can get.  Friend of Daria's from Lawndale."  As it happened Kevin was running out another bag of trash, stinking of cigarettes and beer.

"Hey Kevin, this is my friend and bandmate Jesse." He figured a formal introduction was the first order of business.

Kevin wiped his garbage hand on his jeans and extended it to Jesse.  "Hey bro!  Nice vest."

"Thanks."  Jesse shook his hand.

Trent continued. "So Daria said that once you had a job that you were going to start looking for an apartment."  

"Yeah.  My parents gave me some cash to set it up."  Kevin smiled.

"Great." Jesse smiled back, "you know.  We've got a room upstairs you could rent from us.  It's cheap for here too, $500.00.  Includes utilities."  He could see Kevin hesitate.  "Come up and check it out after last call.  You can't beat the commute."  He remembered hearing that line somewhere.

"Really? I could live with you guys?  Wow!"  He seemed really excited. "Oh, I've gotta go, Carol needed some more Jaggermeister."  He bounded back into the bar.

"Is he for real?" Jesse asked.  

"What do you mean?"  

"He seems really...up. Hyper or something."    
  


Trent pondered it. "I think he's just a jock.  You know how they are."

Jesse nodded, "yeah, they've got their endorphin highs and stuff.  Do you think he can make smoothies?  I like smoothies for breakfast.  Rayna used to make 'em for me."  

"I don't know man.  You could ask."  They went back in for the second set.

The evening wore on.  It was a large crowd.  Lately the neighborhood was attracting more yuppies from downtown.  The pub was getting to be a place where pretty, rich people came to congregate.  It was nearly three in the morning before they were done cleaning up.

Carol counted out the tips to Kevin.  It was forty dollars. "Hey, thanks Carol!"

"No problem kid, you did good.  I'll see you tomorrow at six.  You can help me set up.  You make a great pot of coffee."

"Yeah, my mom likes it strong too."  He smiled and pocketed the cash and walked her out to her car.

Nick and Max had already gone upstairs.  The sound of SportsCenter could be heard from the stairway.

"Alright! You've got cable!  Do you get the Pigskin Channel too?"  He stood in the dark living room and stared at the tube.

"Yeah man. It's a bar, we've got a huge satellite on the...well, right there."  Jesse pointed out the window to the dish.  

"This is great!"  Kevin wanted to poke around, but he waited politely to be shown around.

"Yeah, it's okay for us.  So you'd be sharing a room with me."  Jesse opened the door and Kevin could see the two twin beds.  He picked up some laundry and looked around for the phantom basket, remembering that he didn't have one, he piled it on the bed.  "So there's a closet, and you could use that dresser, it's empty now."  

Harold came in to see what the fuss was.  He rubbed his face on Kevin's pant leg.

"Hey a cat!" he bent down to pet him.  "I like cats!" 

"Harold likes people.  Maude, the other cat hides.  She used to hide in my girlfriend's closet, maybe she'll come out...someday."

"These decorations are so cool. Great clock.  What's Hamms?"  

Jesse looked at the clock. "I don't know.  I asked Carol once, but she just laughed."

Kevin's eye roved over the various posters and knick-knacks, Captain Morgan peered out from his place on the door, an old Spuds MacKenzie plush stood in the corner near Max's sound system in a warped parody of 'His Master's Voice', but it was the cardboard cut out of the blond that Kevin knew so well that caught his attention.  "That's Ashley-Amber! Dude, I _know_ her!"

"The St. Peter Beer Girl?"  Jesse asked.

"Yeah, it's my ex-girlfriend's step-mom.  You met her too."  Kevin nearly jumped up and down with excitement.  
  


"I did?"  Jesse scratched his head. 

"Yeah, at her party."

"Trent, we had a party with the St. Peter Beer Girl?" 

Trent thought about it. "Well, at her house.  Remember that party in Crewe Neck about a year ago?"

"The one with all those loser high school kids?"

Trent rolled his eyes, "Yeah. There."

"With that dumb cheerleader chick?"

"Hey, watch it bro, that's my girlfriend!  Or...was my girlfriend."  He choked back either anger or tears; it was hard to tell which.

Jesse tried to cheer Kevin up, "She was hot."

"Yeah."  He hung his head. "Hot."

Trent tried to change the subject, he pointed at the poster, "Cures what ales you."

Jesse stared admiringly, slightly below her face, "Yeah." 

Kevin allowed himself to be distracted by the poster, "Yeah." 

"So you wanna see the kitchen?"  Jesse asked.

Kevin thought about it, "no." 

"What do you think?"  Trent asked.  He was tired and wanted to go home.

"Let's do it!" Kevin grabbed Jesse's hand and shook it hard.

"Jesse!" Max called from the living room, "the toilet's stuck again!"

"I'll move in tomorrow!"  Kevin said, bounding into 'his' bed.  "Let's go Trent, tomorrow is moving day!"

***

Daria woke up and went to work.  She was curious to know how Trent had dealt with Kevin all night long. She thought about it as she went through her day, and hoped that they would be able to talk with her when she got home.  Predictably, Trent was on the sofa watching Dr. Phil.

"Hey babe!  How are you?"  

"Babe?  Don't tell me, he's rubbed off on you so quickly?"  Daria set down her pack and sat on the sofa with him.

_And how's that working for you?_ Echoed from the television. 

"Huh?"  Trent seemed genuinely confused.

"Nothing.  So how did last night go?"  She expected to hear about what an onerous evening he had babysitting Kevin.

"Great."  He lowered the volume.

"Great?  It went great?  HOW?"  It was beyond her.  Kevin was a person to be endured.  The idea that someone might actually have _enjoyed_ spending time with Kevin was beyond her ability to grasp.

"Randy and Rayna took off for Colorado, so Kevin pitched in and Carol hired him."  He started.

"WHAT?  He walked into the pub and in five minutes had a job and was working?"  She huffed.

"Lucky I guess.  Carol was grateful to have him.  He worked like a dog."  Trent explained.

"Lucky covers it.  He is the luckiest guy I know.  I find it hard to believe that he worked hard though.  Remember, I worked with him back in Lawndale."  She angrily rearranged the pillows on the sofa.

"That was a while ago.  Think about it Daria.  Back then why would he have bothered with some dumb part-time job?  He probably thought he was going to be going on to college and playing ball."  

"Right.  That was his excuse for everything.  All the projects that we did _together_," she made quote marks with her fingers.  "Where I stayed up late working on the research and he sat in the living room watching TV with my dad."  She punched a throw pillow.

"Yeah, of course it was.  That's how jocks think.  They're really good at one thing, and they define themselves by that thing.  For his time in high school, he was the most successful person there."  

"In his mind."  

"Right, in his mind.  But that's where jocks live.  They visualize everything hundreds of times before they execute it.  I'll guarantee you that Kevin saw himself graduating, going to a great college and getting drafted into the pros.  He saw it every hour of every day from the moment he made the team.  Of course he was a stuck up asshole in high school."

"You say that like it's a good thing.  Since when are you on _his_ side?"  She asked, shooting him an angry look.

"I'm not taking sides.  I remember him from that party we played.  He was really popular.  He was probably a jerk then too.  But the point is that he's changed.  He would have had to.  He didn't go to college.  All that stuff he imagined for himself disappeared.  It didn't happen.  The problem is that in the past year he's had to redefine himself.  Sure, he's goofy, but he's also pretty nice."  Trent took a slug of his soda.  

"You know, as long as I've known him, people have been asking me to cut him a break.  Do the work on the project.  Help him out on the job.  Tutor him so he can get his GED.  Everyone takes an interest in him.  Why is he so special?  Why is it that we mere mortals must bow down and peel his grapes?"  She was becoming agitated.

"Calm down.  It's not him.  It's people like him.  When you're watching a show on TV, and the lead is a handsome, young, popular guy, even if he turns out to be the bad guy, don't you want him to get away with it?"

"No."

"Come on Daria it's human nature.  He's a really, nice guy.  He's kind of dumb, but people want him to land on his feet.  What's going to make you happy?  Seeing him when he's forty, living in a trailer, managing the Cluster Burger?" 

"No, but I'd like to see him do SOMETHING for himself.  Everyone is always doing something for him.  You got him a job.  My mom got me to tutor him.  I notice HE didn't call me and ask for my help.  He doesn't initiate ANYTHING!"

"That's just a guy thing.  If it weren't for women, we'd never get out of bed."  He got up and stretched.

"What?"  She gaped at him.  Since when did Trent subscribe to the Mars/Venus view of the world? 

"Seriously, you're asking too much.  If Jane didn't kick my ass, I wouldn't be here.  Guys have a tendency to inertia.  A woman has to get us going, once we're going, we can pretty much keep moving.  Hand me that can." He reached for his empty soda can. 

She gave it to him. "So he's got a job.  I guess he's out looking for an apartment now." Her voice was thick with sarcasm.

"Nope, he's moving into his apartment."  He instinctively backed away.

"Tell me you're joking."  

"He moved in with the band.  Don't be mad, he's paying $500 a month, and I get a quarter of it."  He smiled at her in an attempt to keep her from murdering him.

"Whatever.  You know what?  Since Kevin Thompson is the poster boy for idiots, you can hang out with _him_ for a while.  I'm going upstairs to study."  She clomped up the stairs.  She turned around at the landing and called down to him.  "You'll see.  I'll start tutoring him and you'll see.  He'll be the same, lazy jerk he's always been."  Her door slammed and a framed Picasso poster slid slightly on the wall. 

Trent realized that there would be no home cooked dinner that evening.  He contemplated what he would do.  Should he go up and try and soothe her?  Should he just stay out of her way?  He weighed his options when Kevin poked his head in the door.

"Hey Trent!  I'm almost done!  I just wanted to come back to see Daria for a minute.  Set up our tutoring and stuff.  DARIA!"  He called up the stairs.

"I wouldn't do that right now.  She's pretty pissed off at me."  Trent rubbed his neck.

"Man, what did you do to piss her off?"  He lowered his voice, hoping to escape his wrath.

"Never mind.  You want to grab a pizza before work?"  Trent asked, deciding to bail out while he could.

"Great!  Do you like ham and pineapple?"  Kevin asked conversationally.

"That's fine.  Let's just go."  Trent steered him out of the house before objects started to fly.

***

It was a day before Daria could speak a civil word to anyone, let alone Trent or Kevin, but she realized that she needed to move beyond her anger.  She set up their tutoring session for Kevin's first day off.  He arrived early, with his test prep book in hand.

"Hey Daria.  So where should we do this?"  He looked at the sofa and hoped it might be in front of the TV.

"Let's go into the dining room, it's more set up for a work environment."  She sat him with his back to the windows so he could get the sunlight from behind.  Mozart played on the stereo to aid with study. 

"I think we should start with math, that's my worst subject."  He flipped the book open, but Daria stopped him.

"Let's do this scientifically.  I'm going to give you a test that will help me figure out the best way to help you learn."  She handed him a booklet.

"You're giving me a test on the first day?"  He was affronted.

"It's just an evaluation, don't freak out."  She tried to keep the annoyance out of her voice.

"I hate tests.  I always freak out." He chewed the eraser on the pencil she had handed him.

"That's common, lots of people hate tests." _Even people who **study** for tests_, she thought.  "Just relax and answer the questions as truthfully as possible.  Don't think too hard." She added, smiling to herself.

He gingerly opened the book and saw the types of questions asked.  He did relax.  It took him nearly two hours to answer the questions.  Longer than anyone Daria had ever administered the test to.  She sent him into the living room to hang out with Trent while she scored it.  Kevin learned primarily through working hands-on with things.  Daria needed to plan drills with him.  To get him to physically work through his test questions, rather than working on strategies that appealed to other senses.  "Okay, I've got another one for you!"  She called to him.

She administered a form of an intelligence test.  She needed to evaluate where he was, so that she could design a plan of action for him.   This test took ninety minutes, but only because it was timed.  Again she scored it.  She was shocked.  She was used to seeing scores of people who qualified for acceptance into Raft.  Sure, they needed a tutor for a reason, but she had never seen scores so low.  Apparently Kevin read at a sixth grade level and his mathematical abilities were equally as low.  She stared at the report, and started to work through the formulas again, to see if she made a mistake.  She hadn't. Sixth grade.  Kevin had the capacity of a sixth grader.  Daria thought back to the sixth grade.  She read Animal Farm and was working on algebraic equations.  Even when she was in the sixth grade, she wasn't at a sixth grade level.  

What did you do with an adult who thought like a child?  He wasn't mentally challenged, he was able to reason just fine, apparently he had been allowed to coast by for so long, that he didn't develop beyond the very basic skills necessary to survive.  It would be a long, hard battle, but at least she knew where she was.  She wrestled with herself as to what she needed to tell him.

"Kevin, we need to work on a game plan."  She called to him, speaking his language.  

"It's not good is it?  I guess it's true, I'm stupid."  He viewed the results as he spoke.

"It is what it is.  I don't think you're stupid," she lied. "You've got a lot of work ahead of you, there's not doubt about it.  I don't know how long it will take. Are you willing to do this?"  She needed to know.  Why waste any time on him, if he didn't want to do it?

"I don't know.  My folks really want me to."  He refused to meet her eyes.

"Right, I know.  My folks want me to do stuff too.  I do what I want.  What do _you _want?"  

"It's so embarrassing.  I remember once, I thought I could help kids.  Remember when I lectured them about safety?  But then I knew that even _they_ were smarter than me."  He fiddled with the edges of his prep book.

"There's only you and me here Kevin.  It's your parents' money.  Do you want to spend it, or not?"  She tried a humorous approach.

"I guess. I'd rather you get it than some dumb test center where I have to look at shapes and stuff."  

"You mean like squares and triangles?"

"Daria!  Even I'm not that dumb!"

"Okay, so you know that.  Do you want to work with what you have or not?"

"Yes, I guess so.  I'm tired of being dumb."

"I'm not guaranteeing that you'll be Einstein..."

"The bagel guy?" Kevin asked.

Daria now understood Mr. DeMartino's perpetual aggravation.  "No, the Nobel Prize winning physicist.  I think we both know that you'll never be him.  But I can help you get to the point where you know who he is."

"Hey, that's pretty good!"  He cheered up. 

"So we'll meet here for a few hours a week, and maybe next year, you'll be ready to take the test."  

"Next year! Man, I can't even concentrate now.  I hope you aren't going to get pissed off with me, like everyone else.  I have a hard time concentrating on this stuff."  Kevin twiddled the now tooth marked pencil.

"Well, I can't promise you that I won't get bitchy.  I've known you for a long time and frankly I'm still pissed off about all of the work you used to dump on me."  

"Huh? What are you talking about?"  He seemed confused.

"When you were my lab partner in chemistry.  You can thank me for your D.  As in Didn't Do any work.  Or when we worked at Nutty, Nutty World. Do you even know what a Brazil nut is?"

"Is that on the test?"  He smiled, making a small joke.  She didn't smile. "I know that you've helped me out in the past.  I also know that I didn't give you the credit for the assist.  Look, all I can do is try to do this now."

"Fine, so we agree.  I can bitch at you, and you have to do the work."  She extended her hand.

He shook it.  "Thanks Daria.  Let's get a pizza!  Do you like ham and pineapple?"  


	18. Get Real

Get Real 

**By Ruthless Bunny**

Mystik Spiral were just finishing their last set.  They had a routine.  The first set was covers, for the Happy Hour crowd.  The second set was their most popular original material. The last set was new stuff or really weird covers, mostly for the hardcore fans and hardcore drinkers.  The crowd that night had been huge.  People were turned away at the door, and not because the fire marshal had any say in the matter.  Mystik Spiral was enjoying a modicum of success as a happening local band.  They still worked Sunday through Thursday, leaving Friday and Saturday for regional bands.  On the weekends they used to hang out, rest and recoup, but lately their schedule had been packed with private parties.  The good thing was that they were no longer responsible for cleaning up at night. 

There had been a couple of guys sitting in the back, nursing what looked like very old scotch.  Sitting, writing notes and occasionally speaking with one another.  Jesse thought that they might be record company executives.  He spent most of the evening swinging his hair in an exaggerated way and shooting brooding, pensive looks to the regulars in the front row.  Trent had no opinion either way, but to be on the safe side, for the second and third sets he had rearranged some songs on the list, saving the most popular for last.  

Last call came and went and the only people left were the band, the staff and those two guys in the back.  The guys were packing up and talking, nervously stealing glances at the men.  Finally they approached.

"Great stuff guys," he extended his hand, "I'm Gareth Williams, this is my partner Mark Simpson, we're with Lap Dog productions."  He waited expectantly for the band to realize the importance of his statement, but was met with blank stares.  "We do _Get Rea_' on The Music Channel."  That got a reaction.

"I like that show.  Everyone is always so..." Jesse paused, what was a nice way of saying bitchy?  

Trent's disappointment played across his face.  The guys do a reality show.  They didn't have anything to do with the music industry.  He went back to wrapping cord.

"Trent, could we speak with you.  In private?"  Mark tapped him on the shoulder.  

Trent handed the cord to Max. "Guys, I'll be in the booth over there.  I think we're nearly done anyway."  He hinted.  Fat lot of good it did, Jesse looked like he planned to restring his ax.

The band muttered an assent as Trent walked to the back booth.  When Flip Wilson referenced, 'the booth in the back, in the corner, in the dark' he meant this one.  Even if the pub had been jammed, they could have negotiated the Treaty of Versailles back there.

Gareth and Mark faced Trent.  Trent had cadged a beer on the way over and sipped at it while the two men laid out their plan.  Gareth did the talking, Mark took notes.  "Trent, you've heard of _Get Real_ right?"

Trent nodded, heard of it was about the extent of it, but he didn't feel it appropriate to share that information with these two men.

"Our next show is going to be shot here in Boston.  We're getting together a small group of students, you know some Ivy League, some state university types, but we think we need someone with edge to play against all of that scholastic angst.  We're looking for someone who rejected the traditional path, and is forging ahead with his dream of success in the music industry.  We want you to be a part of our cast."  He smiled charmingly, giving the impression that his asking was a mere formality; that no one ever said 'no' to him.  At least not since he had become a producer. 

Trent thought for a moment.  He took a swig of his beer.  Living in a reality show, being on television, over and over and over again, week after week.  "I don't know.  I live with my girlfriend."  He picked at the label on the bottle.

"Well, you could still see her.  You'd have to stay in the house.  We could work out a schedule or something.  Hey, do you think she'd want to be on the show?"  Gareth asked as Mark scribbled furiously. "She's cute right?"  He added quickly.

"Oh yeah, she's beautiful."  Trent thought about how they might look on television together.  He conveniently forgot that Daria was as likely to embrace being on a reality show, as she was likely to take up stripping.  

"I don't think it will be a problem.  We got a penthouse in Beacon Hill for the shoot.  You'll be the one with your own room.  We were sort of hoping...well you've got a girlfriend, we can work around that.  You know, we really want to feature the band as well."

Trent stopped daydreaming and thought about what this could mean for Mystik Spiral.  "I would only do it if we could showcase our act."

Gareth and Mark nodded their heads, "Of course Trent.  That's why we wanted you.  Right now you are on the cusp of breaking through.   We wanted to add a dimension to the show.  You know how popular American Idol is.  You've seen 'Making the Band', this type of story is very hot right now."  Trent had no idea what he was talking about, but felt that it would be rude to say so.  "After eleven seasons, there's not an awful lot more to be discovered about a group of people living together.  We're looking for a new angle, and we think that with you in the house, that we can achieve the freshness we need.  Frankly, Mystik Spiral has buzz.  We want to exploit that."

Trent didn't say anything.  Gareth and Mark mistook his natural economy with words to be a negotiation ploy.  Trent was suddenly very tired and he didn't want to talk anymore with these guys tonight.

"You can write a new theme song for the show."  Mark threw in.  Gareth stared at him darkly, but waited for Trent's reaction before saying anything.

"It all sounds really good.  I need to discuss it with Daria and with the band.  Can I get back to you?"  He pushed the unfinished beer aside, leaving a wet trail of condensation in its wake.

"Of course.  We're still casting this season.  Here's my card.  We're staying at the Copley Plaza," he named a luxury hotel in the fashionable part of town.  "Give me a call tomorrow and we'll discuss this further."  

Trent took the card with the extraneous information written on it in fountain pen.  Elegantly pretentious.  "Okay, I'll get back to you."  He put the card in his pants pocket, smearing the ink slightly.  

"Great.  Looking forward to working with you buddy."  Gareth hazarded a friendly smack on Trent's shoulder.  Trent just looked at him.  "Right, tomorrow then."  

They left the pub, probably in a wickedly expensive rental car.  Trent walked upstairs to tell the guys.  Kevin was still wiping down the bar, using linseed oil to bring up the gloss.  Trent nodded an acknowledgement to him as he headed upstairs.  The guys were watching The Music Channel when Trent came up.

"So Trent, what do those guys want?  Who do we have to kill to be on their show?"  Max asked. 

Trent took the card out and passed it around.  "They want me to live in a penthouse with a bunch of other people.  The good part of it is that we can perform on the show if I do it."  

Jesse was noticeably jealous.  "They want YOU to be on the show?  But you aren't even single or anything."  

"Yeah, they seemed to have a small problem with that too." He shrugged, "But they said that we could re-do the theme song.  There could be money for all of us in that."  

Nick stretched and yawned, "Trent, you have to do this, this could be our big break.  We can be on The Music Channel."  

"So do you get paid to do this?"  Jesse reached for the giant, plastic cup of kool-aid.  Everyone looked at him.  "What?"

"Dude, they don't pay the people on that show."  Nick explained.

"Oh.  But it's still cool.  You get to live in that house, with all of those naked chicks, and they have a hot tub."  Jesse seemed to know too much about the show.

"Okay.  I'm beat.  I want to sleep on this and talk to Daria before I make any decisions."  Trent took the card from Max, who seemed to think that it belonged in a scrapbook.  

They bid him good night, and he walked into the chilly night air, towards the warmth of his home.

***

Daria was surprised to see Trent on the couch when she came downstairs.  He had a note attached to his boots: _wake me up before you go_.  She shook him and he crept to life.

"Trent, are you okay?"  She kissed him on the forehead, expecting that he had morning breath.

"Hmm?  Yeah.  Uh, I need to tell you something."  He slowly pulled himself together, after only three hours of fitful sleep; he wasn't really as awake as he wanted to be.

Daria's stomach dropped.  What if Trent had met someone else?  What if he was going away?  It had to be huge for him to want to talk to her this early in the morning.

He took a gulp of the water that he had on the coffee table. It revived him somewhat.  "Uh, some guys came to the pub yesterday and offered me this incredible deal.  I wanted to know what you thought about it before I decided what to do."  He handed her the card.

Daria looked at it, but couldn't make any sense out of it.  "What's Lap Dog Productions?"

"They do that show on The Music Channel, _Get Real_.  They want me to be on the show."  He saw her face darken.  "They said you could be on it too."  He didn't want to elaborate on exactly _how_ they envisioned Daria's participation.  He looked at her for approval.  Although it would mean moving away from her, he really wanted to be on the show.  It was a great opportunity for the band.  

Daria had seen _Get Real_.  Her RA last year, Melissa used to have a weekly floor party around the show.  She archived the tapes.  "Trent, have you _seen_ _Get Real_?"  Trent shook his head. "It's about seven people living together."  No reaction.  "Trent, why did you leave Lawndale?"  

"To get away from my crazy family; you know that."  He answered.

"Right.  So you don't want to live with seven people that are related to you, but you want to agree to live with seven strangers, all of them about twenty-two years old?"  She stood with her arm cocked against her hip.  

"They said that they would feature the band.  It could be our big break."  He tried to get her to be more favorable to his idea.  

"Well, that is a good point.  Don't make any decisions. At least not until I get back later.  I've got that team building thing today with Student Government, so I'll be home late."  She kissed him goodbye and ruffled his hair.  "Go back to bed, you look like you escaped from somewhere.  Again, don't do anything until I get back.  I mean it."

***

Daria had been dreading this Friday.  It was a school holiday so the Student Government had taken the opportunity to spend a day in a team-building seminar.  Dr. Bamman had made participating in Student Government one of Daria's job duties.  The idea was to keep abreast of Student Government issues that would impact the English department.  Unless the color of the dishware in the cafeteria was of vital importance to tenured faculty, Daria suspected that her real job was to keep Student Government far away from the English Department, which wanted to preserve its fiefdom.  

They were meeting at a hotel near campus and Daria had no idea what to expect.  She was advised to wear loose, comfortable clothing and non-skid shoes.  She borrowed one of Quinn's sweat outfits, a pair of Lycra pants topped with a thigh skimming, fitted sweatshirt.  She found her summer Keds and a thick pair of socks.  Her hair was pulled back in a matching scrunchie.  People who didn't know Daria would have thought she was an exceptionally cute girl.  Daria felt foolish dressed up in her sister's clothes.  _Why is it that this outfit, which is designed to be comfortable, makes me extremely uncomfortable?_  She thought as she walked to the bus stop.  "What are you looking at?"  She asked the next-door neighbors' Labrador, who was eyeing her suspiciously, tail wagging.

She arrived in time to partake of the complementary breakfast ubiquitous to all hotels.  Lukewarm coffee, thick cream, stale pastries and pulpy orange juice.  She by passed this repast and took a bottle of water instead.  

Most of the Student Government regulars were clumped around Chad, student government president, who was regaling them with stories of his latest triumphs in Lacrosse.  His best friend and rival, Brian was hanging on his every word.

Daria looked around the room, dying to find someone to talk to that didn't bore her to tears.  Antoine was standing by the registration table, signing in.

"So how painful do you think this will be?"  Daria approached him.

He smacked his nametag on his Omega sweatshirt.  "I feel like a fool right now, I predict that it will go downhill from here."

A burst of forced laughter could be heard from the other side of the room.  Daria rolled her eyes.  "I usually hate stuff like this, but I can promise you that this experience will be the zenith of my disgust."

"Chad."  Antoine nodded in agreement.

"Right, I can bear anything, as long as I don't have to deal with Chad."  She sipped her water.  "My strategy is to drink a bunch of water and to take frequent rest room breaks."

He toasted her with his water bottle, acknowledging the same idea.

The trainer had arrived and she was calling everyone into a circle.  There were twelve participants. The group was comprised of the student government officers, the departmental liaisons and a couple of key club presidents.  It was a diverse group; in so far as a bunch of over-achieving student leaders could be diverse.  

"Good morning everyone!"  Anne, the facilitator shouted.  It was understood that the room should resound with everyone else returning her greeting.  She was not disappointed.

"Good morning!" Most of the group replied.  Chad's voice resonating the loudest.  Chad had decided that team building was a competitive event, and he played to win.  

"Wow, this is an enthusiastic group!  Today we're going to participate in exercises that are designed to help us learn about each other and to help us learn to work better together.  We've got an ice breaker here, it's like bingo."  As she explained the point of the game, one of her assistants passed out copies of a sheet that looked like a bingo card.  In the squares were different attributes.  Varsity sport team member, appeared on television, born in a foreign country, only child, one of more than six children and other such items.  "Okay, you have twenty minutes to go around and find people with these traits.  There's a valuable prize for the first person to get a bingo.  Okay...Go!"  

The room suddenly turned frenzied as everyone went around talking with each other.  Daria turned to Antoine.  "How many of these can I put you down for?"  

He looked at her list, "I ran track, I'm the oldest of seven children and I was born in Germany."  

"Really? You're so well rounded."  She marked off the appropriate boxes.  "So is your Dad in the military?"

"Actually, both of my parents serve in the marines.  They're stationed in Japan right now.  My younger brother just enlisted."

"No kidding.  Okay, I've been on television.  I was salutatorian of my high school class, although I suspect that the room is full of valedictorians and salutatorians."

"Doubtless."  He marked off his boxes.  "So how were you on television?"

"You'll die.  My sister Quinn sells hair stuff on the Home Shopping Network.  She used my hair in a demonstration of her products.  I've sworn her to secrecy about it."  Daria lowered her voice so as not to be heard.

"Wow." He said, impressed.  "So who else do you want to ask?"  He looked around the room skeptically.

"No one."  Daria set her rules immediately. "Let's just drink some more water."  They walked back to the refreshment table and watched the rest of the participants.  "Oh, I need to call someone, it's important."  She took out her phone and dialed.

***

Melissa arrived at the house at around eleven o'clock.  She rang the bell and waited the five minutes advised by Daria, before Trent answered.  He peered blearily at her on the doorstep.

"Hi!  Have you heard the Good News?"  She joked with him.  He stared at her incomprehensibly.  "I'm kidding!  I brought you the tapes Daria said you wanted."  She walked past him, admiring the house.  "This is beautiful!"

"Who are you?"  Trent felt that he should ask as this vaguely familiar person wandered around his house.

"I'm Melissa, the RA from the dorm last year?"  

Blank.  

"I gave you a key to your room?"  

Blank.  

"I'm the Jesus freak from next door?"

"Oh right."  He remembered now.  "So what did Daria want you to show me?"  

"I brought the tapes of _Get Real_.  Daria said you might be on the show.  If you get on the show can I come and visit?  It's my favorite show in the whole world!"  She fiddled around with the VCR, but couldn't figure it out.  Trent manipulated the remote and activated the various devices until they were able to view the tapes. "I wish I had Tivo or a disc burner, the quality on these is not the greatest.  I think that all things considered that they look pretty good."  

The tape started, the familiar promo, _This is what happens when roommates stop being polite and Get Real!_  Trent stared at the television.  The first tape introduced each roommate.  They all had weird names like Lavina, Sushannah, Devohn and Pebble.  The girls were improbably beautiful.

He couldn't help himself.  "Uh Melissa, for a realism show, these girls don't appear to be all that...real."  Not that he was bothered by their synthetic good looks. 

"Well, lots of them want to be actresses," she offered as an explanation. 

"Right."  He continued to watch.  At first it seemed like what might happen if a bunch of people were thrown together.  As the tapes progressed the show became darker.  One girl developed a serious drug problem, one guy came out under the pressure of having to continuously deny his sexuality, the religious guy began to question his religious commitment.  In each case, someone who seemed to come into the show with their head attached firmly to his or her shoulders, in the end, had shown themselves to be complete, raving, lunatics.

As Trent watched Jordan and Justin try to kill each other with salad forks, Trent began to see what Daria was talking about.  There was something about the show that he couldn't put his finger on, but whatever it was, he had no desire whatsoever to be a part of it.  "Melissa, what do you see in this?  It seems," he struggled for a word, "prurient."  SAT word, from a long, long time ago.

"It's my guilty pleasure.  I try to live my life on a certain path, but we're all human.  It's my one vice."  She explained lamely.  

"Well, thanks for bringing these by."  He looked at the massive bag of tapes that she brought.  "I don't think I need to see any more."

"Are you sure?  This is only season six.  I have them all, but this one was the best!"  She collected them all, gently placing them in their plastic boxes.  

"I've seen enough.  Thanks, it was really nice of you to bring them over."  Trent said as he steered her to the door.

"Well, I've exhausted all of the people in the dorm with them, I was just glad to find someone else who wanted to watch them with me!  Tell Daria to call me!  Bye!"  She bounced out to her Volkswagen.

Trent shut the door.  He realized that he was in over his head.  He needed good advice from someone who didn't have any skin in the game.  Jane.  He needed to call Jane.

***

The group had been split into two groups of six.  Daria, Antoine and Chad were teamed with some other people in a bid for survival.  The scenario was that they were stranded in the desert, they were given a list of actions they could take and were told to prioritize them in order of importance.  The subtext was that a leader would emerge. Chad was determined to be that leader.

Daria scanned the list; something about it seemed very familiar.  She cast her mind back to her childhood in Texas.  Highland was a scrubby place between Nowhere and No place, surrounded by desert. Ever since she could remember she had been taught how to deal with the eventuality of being stranded in the desert.  There were two things that had been imprinted on her brain: secure water and don't leave your car.  The reasons were fuzzy.  The water was self-explanatory, staying with the car...oh yes, that was because the car was easy to spot when the search parties came to find you.  Although she didn't want to participate, she felt that she should contribute these small details.

She looked on her list.  There were different actions that they could take.  Find water, find shade, find food, use a mirror to signal for help, stay calm, walk out in search of help.  These things were on the copied list.  Only two fit her memory of how to deal with the situation.   

Chad was thinking out loud as he read the list.  "It seems to me that we need to organize our efforts.  Water is important, but so is food.  We also need to be rescued, so we need to get a volunteer to walk out to get help..."

"Chad?"  Daria interjected.

"Yes?" He hissed.  He didn't like being interrupted when he was leading.

"I lived in the desert for fifteen years.  I remember that they taught us in school that we need to secure water and sit tight.  Other than that, the rest of this is just bogus."  She thought this was helpful.  Basically, they could put their decision down and sit and wait for the other group to finish their exercise.

"Well I was an Eagle Scout and I think I know a little something about survival."  He continued to delegate different responsibilities to his team.

"Were you an Eagle Scout in a desert?  I lived in Texas.  I'm telling you, they force it into your head."  She tried to reason with him, but she had assaulted him in his vulnerable spot, his sense of self-importance.

"Look, I know what I'm doing.  Survival is key in this situation, it's also important to keep the team busy so that they don't worry."  He condescendingly reproached her.

"Fine, you do what you want.  I claim this cactus," she grabbed one of the ballroom's chairs, "I can cut it open with my pen knife and chew on the juicy pulp for moisture.  It will be nasty, but it will keep me alive.  I'm going to sit here, right next to the car, until help arrives.  Go ahead with your plan though."  She sat down on the floor next to the chair. She would have pulled out a book, if she had thought to bring one with her.

Antoine looked between the two.  Chad had assigned him the duty of walking out for help.  "You know what Chad, I'm with Daria.  She makes sense.  Besides, _you_ go walking out of the desert with no compass or map," he pulled a chair close to him. "This is _my_ cactus." 

The two sat and watched as Chad masked his fury.  He turned to what remained of the team and delegated the tasks between them.  

"So, go driving in the desert often?" Daria asked Antoine conversationally.

"No, this is my first time."  He drank a draught of water out of his bottle.

"Good thing we've got these cacti."  Daria patted the seat of her chair.

"Right, good old cactus juice.  Sounds like something Yosemite Sam might get tight on."

"I don't think it's intoxicating." Daria informed him.  "Actually in the third-grade some guy came to class to give us the survival lecture and demonstration and I got to eat some cactus pulp.   Quite nasty."  

"I'll bet it's a lot like okra." 

"It is.  Like I said, nasty."  She got up, "I've got to pee.  Be right back."

By the time Daria returned, the groups had finished and Anne was going over the results.

"So, who in your groups were the leaders?"  The groups affirmed that Chad and Brian had taken the reins of leadership.  "Okay, now what issues did you encounter as leaders?"

Brian started, "Well, at first it's hard to decide who is going to lead, but eventually, someone does.  Then it's just a matter of deciding what needs to happen."

"Okay, Chad, you didn't have such an easy time of it, why don't you explain what happened in your group."

Chad inhaled, he hated to be the example of what went wrong, "Even the best leaders have to deal with teammates who don't want to cooperate."  He shot an evil look at Daria, "As a leader though, it's important to help those team members who do want to work together and to lead them to success, or survival."  He smiled, pleased with the way that he had snatched triumph from the jaws of defeat.

Anne smiled at him, "That's great Chad.  Now Daria, you resisted Chad's leadership, why don't you explain why you did that?"  Chad beamed at how Daria was being singled out as a troublemaker.

Daria blushed; she disliked attention. "At first I explained what I know about the situation, but our leader rejected my input, so I decided that rather than waste my time and energy, that I would go ahead and do what I needed to do to take care of my own survival."  She hoped that would be enough.

"Your actions had an effect on others on your team, didn't they?"  Anne prompted.

"Antoine decided that he liked my plan, so he did what I did."  Short, simple and unapologetic.

"Antoine, why did you reject Chad's leadership and follow Daria?"  Anne pushed. 

"It seemed to me that Chad had decided that he was the expert in the group, but his plan seemed to be a lot of pointless activity.  Daria tried to tell him what to do, and more importantly _why_ to do it.  Chad seemed to have some kind of generic survival skills, but Daria had specific information.  I think that a good leader is willing to respect someone's actual experience, and defer to that superior knowledge." He tipped a figurative hat to Daria.

"Excellent, thank you, very well put.  Let me read to you from our desert survival experts at Arizona State University.  _When stranded in the desert the most important thing is to be rescued.  Your chances of being rescued increase if you stay with your vehicle.  Search planes can see vehicles much better than they can see individuals walking through the desert.  Water is your next concern.  Hopefully if you are driving through the desert you will carry enough water to sustain you, but chances are you won't.  There are sources of water in the desert if you know how to find them.  Cacti are succulents and good sources of moisture if your water supply becomes low.  The heat in the desert can be crippling.  To conserve your bodily moisture, do not engage in activities.  Stay as calm, and as inactive as possible_.  Okay, so in this case, Daria has the exact right strategy.  Not only did she save herself, she was able to influence one of her teammates to save himself too.  Sometimes leadership is doing the right thing, not the popular thing.  A true leader _will_ change his strategy if a better one is presented to him or her.  So I have prizes for the survivors.  Daria, Antoine, please come here and get your valuable prizes!"  Anne had cushioned the blow, but Chad was nearly paralyzed with anger.  

Daria and Antoine each picked a Koosh ball from the prize pack.  They played with them as people came up to them and congratulated them.

***

Jane and Trent met at the Chuck Wagon, a burger place.  As they waited for their food, Trent explained about _Get Real_.  "So they want me to be one of the roommates.  What do you think?"

Jane rolled her straw wrapper up into a tight curl.  "Have you _seen_ _Get Real_?"  

"Melissa came over and showed me.  Dramatic."  Trent said, deliberately remaining neutral.

"Dramatic?  That's a word for it, so is homicidal.  What are you _thinking_?"  She stuck her straw in her tea and swirled the ice around.

"It would be good for the band.  They say that we'll be featured, it's a new angle."  He handed Jane the now tattered business card.

"Hmm.  It's legit all right.  Trent, I can see how getting the band exposure on The Music Channel would be good, I can see how it would be real good, but the fact is that for six months you would be caged with morons.  What does Daria think about this?"  Jane handed it back to him; he put it gently in his billfold.

"She hates the idea.  I hate to say this, it sounds conceited, but I think she's threatened by the idea."  

"_You think_? Of course she'd be threatened.  I watch that show, it's the one way we can get peace in the dorm.  Those girls are predators.  They create the drama on the show to get more face time.  These girls sleep with the guys as a power maneuver.    They deliberately get these whackadoos, they also get one sane person.  What they do is slowly drive the sane person to do shit they wouldn't be caught dead doing.  Last season Seana was the sane one.  In the last show she had decided to drop out of her pre-med program and become a stripper.  Did I mention that they showed her boob job on the Internet?  Trent, this is dangerous.  I'm with Daria, don't do it."  She drank some tea.

"But what about the opportunity?"  Trent didn't want to relinquish his chance, he liked being asked; he was flattered.  "I'm fairly level headed, maybe I won't get sucked into the craziness." 

Jane nodded, "sure Trent, I agree, you probably won't get involved in the weirdness, but you'll have to live with it.  You don't like weirdness.  I have reason to know.  What if being miserable makes you resent the band?  What if this causes the band to break up?  What if the producers want that kind of drama for their show?  Do you really think these guys care whether or not Mystik Spiral gets a record deal?"

The waitress came with their food, "okay here's rare and here's well done. Fixin's are on the chuck wagon," she indicated the wooden cart holding the hamburger toppings, "help yourself.  I'll bring refills in a sec."  

Trent sucked down the last of his soda and took the bun off of his burger.  "You know what, I'll bet Daria has a way where I can have my cake and eat it too.  Let's get some chili."

Jane followed him, "You think a lot of Daria, don't you?"  

Trent piled on everything, making a separate meal out of toppings, "So do you.  If anyone can figure this out, she can."  

Jane smeared ketchup on top of her cheese.  "Okay, so we'll just have faith that Daria has a plan then.  Great, buy me an ice cream for dessert?"

Trent popped a jalapeno, "I hope Daria has a hell of a plan.  I really don't want to live with whackadoos. That's why I don't live with the band."

***

The final exercise of the afternoon.  Daria was exhausted.  She was aware that keeping her façade of strength up was sapping her energy.  One of the problems with team building is that in order to build the team, often the individual must be sacrificed, and Daria wasn't about sacrificing the individual.  The rest of the sheep had herded into a corner, Anne was motioning for Daria and Antoine to join them.

"It's times like this I wished I smoked, so that I would have an excuse to keep leaving."  Daria sighed as she walked over, as she feared, there was a candle in the middle of the group.  

"What happened to your bathroom plan?"  Antoine asked as he took another swig of water from yet another bottle.

"I think I'll float away if I drink any more."  She sat in the circle.  Kirsten patted a place on the floor next to her.

Anne made everyone hold hands.  "Now I want to tell you a story.  You are all on a wonderful cruise ship.  You're laughing and partying and having the best time ever.  There is a problem though, the ship hits an iceberg and is sinking.  There is another problem; there is only room on the lifeboat for one of you.  You each must make a choice, you must choose the person who lives, and that person will carry your last words to your loved ones.  I want you to think about who in the group is most capable of doing this task.  Go around the circle, one by one, and say to each person that they must die.  When you get to the person that you think should live, simply say to that person, 'you will live.'  At that point, you will each say what is in your hearts to your loved ones."  Anne smiled one of those benevolent smiles that trainers get when they think they are about to change someone's live in a hotel ballroom.  

Each person went around the circle saying, die, die, die, live, die, die, etc.  Daria was bored.  Although she had garnered the most live points so far.  Chad was deeply frustrated that people were investing their last hopes with her instead of them.  Kirsten had started to weep when it came to be her turn.  She too had asked Daria to be the carrier of her last thoughts.

Daria had cast the sole vote for Antoine.  For some reason this group didn't think that he was the right one to convey such personal messages.

Anne first took a poll to find out why people selected Daria.

Kirsten said, "Daria may not be warm, but she's practical and I think that she would do whatever she was asked to by us.  I know that she would tell my mom _everything_ I wanted to say.  Besides, I think that she's distant because she doesn't feel loved.  This is her chance to start living!"  She began to sob.

"For Christ's sake, stop crying, you're not dying.  We're in a hotel, not on the Titanic.  You can tell because the walls are expandable.  This is solid ground.  There's pulpy orange juice.  You can catch a bus and go home tonight."  Daria gave her a napkin.  Kirsten took it and wiped her eyes.

"Antoine, you picked Daria too.  Why?"  Anne asked earnestly.

"She'll do what needs to be done.  I like that about her, she's willing to stick to the task at hand, no matter if it helps her or not."  Antoine got up to pee again; he winked at Daria on the way out.

"Daria, how do you feel about being selected?"  Anne prodded.

Daria again felt uncomfortable.  Everything about the day was frustrating for her.  She was wearing her sister's clothes and being asked to do the exact opposite of her instincts, she was being asked to divulge her private thoughts so that people she disliked could judge her.  "I don't feel anything about it."  There was a gasp.  "I don't.  I sit in our meetings, taking my notes for the chairman of the English department.  I used to try to give input, but I stopped after being ignored or having my ideas co-opted by others.   Now, in this artificial environment, when you've all had your defenses dragged down, you're looking for the least threatening person to do some private thing for you.  Screw you.  If you were half as in touch with your feelings as you all claim to be, there would be nothing unsaid between you and your loved ones."

"Wow Daria, that's powerful, but words to live by.  Never leave anything unsaid, after all, tomorrow is not promised.  Okay, I'm going to give the rest of you time to draft your messages to your loved ones.    Daria, come with me."  The group began to write their innermost thoughts, their most private feelings, suitable for sharing with a room full of people.

Anne pulled Daria into the hallway.  "Daria, I sense some resistance here.  These exercises are meant to bring you closer together with your teammates, not to put wedges."

Daria stared at her.  "Hey, I said I'd come, I never said that I would buy into this.  In case you hadn't noticed, these people aren't playing for the team.  They are all struggling to prove their leadership skills.  If I had a ruler, I'd settle it for them right now, it would save me the trouble of sticking around for the last hour."

Anne laughed, in spite of herself. "Well, you may be right there.  This is a VERY intense group."

Antoine returned from the restroom.  "Intense, yeah, that would cover it."

"Antoine, you've got to write down what you want me to tell your family about dying on the Titanic."  Daria said as he headed into the ballroom.

"Tell them that I said, 'I _told_ you black people shouldn't take vacations near the ocean."  

***

When Daria got home that night she was wrung out.  Trent had made a big pot of soup for dinner and all she wanted to do was get into her flannel jammies and eat a bowl in front of the TV.  

"So, did you build a team?"  He asked as he handed her the steaming mug and cuddled up to her.

She shook her head, "Didn't have enough parts to build a team, more like Frankenstein.  So what did you decide about _Get Real_?"  

"I decided to leave it to you.  What should I do?  I don't want to live with all of those people, but the band is counting on me to give them this opportunity."  He blew across the spoon to cool his soup.  

"Set up a meeting with these guys, and I'll take care of it.  We'll do it Monday night.  At the pub."

***

The pub was packed.  Trent thought that the girls in the front row looked familiar, and not from being regulars either.  He waved to Daria, who was sitting at the back table with Gareth and Mark.  She waved back and made a big deal about blowing a kiss to Trent.  He looked at her strangely, but she waved and smiled.  He started to do the sound check, but had a quizzical look on his face.

Daria turned to Gareth, "You know, I think it's a great idea to feature the band on your show.  All of my friends watch it, but we agree that it's getting kind of stale."  

Gareth leaned in.  Trent wasn't kidding; Daria was beautiful.  Gareth couldn't take his eyes off of her.  She smelled of perfume, her hair shone, even in the dark pub, and her face was luminescent.  Her angora sweater emphasized her other charms.  She was the girl-next door, as Hugh Hefner envisioned her.  Daria smiled at him.

"Gareth, you know, I think that Trent is just an amazing guy, but he _is _my boyfriend.  He pays me to say that."  She laughed lightly and the two men joined her.  She pointed to the women who were clinging to the stage, "You see who the girls all come to see though."  Jesse walked on stage to plug in and the girls started screaming.  He flung his hair and one girl fell backwards a little bit, overcome by...whatever.

The band started into their cover set and Gareth watched as the women in the front row started to chant Jesse's name.

"Doesn't it make sense to take the most popular member of the band?  Besides, Trent is boring around the house. He sleeps most of the time.  Jesse, well, lets just say that he has a 'reputation,' if you know what I mean.  All of my friends talk about Jesse.  Besides, he loves the show and would adore being on it."

Gareth turned to Mark, "You know, we did envision the part for a single man, someone we know would enjoy...getting to know the women in the house."

"If it matters, I think Jesse might be uh, shall we say, flexible, in his affections."  Daria hinted.

Mark's eyes lit up and Gareth grinned.  "Oh my God, would that be _great_?"  

"Very dramatic.  You are going to get one of those sweet religious girls aren't you?  Imagine what might happen if she got entangled and then discovered...you know."  Daria swirled the ice in her glass, indicating that she'd like another.

Mark rose up and went to the bar.  Gareth leaned in closer, "You know, you might be on to something here.  Okay, then Jesse it is."

"Great," she smiled, accepting the drink from Mark.  She turned to watch the band, she gave Melissa the signal and the girls again started chanting Jesse's name.  This was costing her free beer for the entire dorm floor; she wanted her money's worth. 

"Oh yes, I think this is going to be our best season ever.  We can even sell it on DVD."  Gareth sat back in the booth, counting the residuals.  Then again...maybe he could get Trent's girlfriend to be on _Get Real_?  THAT would be a real coup.

He decided against it.  That girl was NOBODY'S fool.


	19. The Sweetheart of Sweet Oak

**The Sweetheart of Sweet Oak**

**By Ruthless Bunny **

"But Da-r-i-a!  Really, I think you would have a good time.  PLEASE???"  Quinn had come back to the house to her 'closet extension' to see if there were some new outfit for some new party at some frat house.  

"Quinn, be serious, there's no way that I'm going to a party at Jesse's and consequently there's no way you can go."  Daria sat in the middle of the bed and watched with interest as her sister assessed each garment.  "Besides, the only people that will be there are people who are trying too hard to be on _Get Real_.  I just don't see you as the kind of person who would get dressed up and talk pseudo-confidentially into a camera about how cute you think some guy is."  

"Well DUH!  Of course not!  I just think that it would be good for business if I could show up, mix and mingle and walk off.  I see it as a subliminal ad.  See me, see my hair!"  She swung the aforementioned tresses and delved back into the closet, seeking the illusive perfect outfit.  "I know that I've got cowboy boots in here...Daria, have you seen my boots?"

"Oh yes, I wore them to the rodeo last night."  Daria rested her head against the cushioned headboard, yawning.  She hadn't been sleeping well lately.

"Seriously, they were custom made and they'll be good with jeans, if I decide to wear jeans."  A black boot, a high heeled boot, a demi-boot and sandal all came flying out of the closet.  "Here, bootsy, bootsy, bootsy!"  Quinn called to her errant footwear.

"MEOW!"  Joyce had been sitting quietly at the edge of the bed, her blue eyes following the airborne items as they sailed out of the closet.  Joyce felt that Quinn wasn't paying enough attention to her.  Of course Joyce believed that everyone should concentrate on her every hour of every day, just as her ancestors had been worshipped in Egypt long ago.  "ME-RRROOOW!"  

"Aw, kitty.  You miss me don't you?"  Quinn stopped and gave Joyce a squeeze.  "Do YOU know where my boots are?"  Joyce flipped her tail in annoyance.  "I guess not."  Quinn grabbed Joyce's paws.  "You already have permanent shoes, and they are sooooo pretty!"  She kissed the cat's feet, as Joyce attempted to reel away backwards.

"Yes those are the same feet that she uses to kick up her litter."  Daria's eyes fluttered and she felt a nap coming on.

"Nice.  Thanks for sharing."  Quinn returned to her search for the boots.

"It needed to be said.  Did you look under your bed?"  She pointed under the dust ruffle, where a multitude of sins were concealed.

"Oh right!  I remember now!  We had that Sigma Nu Hoe Down!"  Her efforts were rewarded.  "Here they are.  Oh wait, now I can't wear them."  She cast them aside and started over again.

Daria rose up and stretched.  "Well, there's no more that I can do here.  I think I'll go have a nap."  At the mention of a nap, Joyce's ears perked up and she stopped grooming her face in anticipation of joining Daria in a short snooze.  

"Okay sleepyhead, but just give the party some thought.  Stacy is visiting for Winter Festival and I wanted to show her a fabulous time."  

"Uh, the fact that Stacy is coming is the last nail in the coffin.  There's no way I'll be there.  How about I just have Jesse invite you?"  Again a yawn.  Joyce stretched, twitching every muscle.

"Would he do that?"  Quinn's head poked out.

Daria shrugged, "Sure, I don't think Jesse will care if a couple of cute girls show up."  

"That would be so great!  I just think about poor Stacy, in that girls school in Connecticut, I want her to have a good time when she's here with me."  Quinn's face had formed into a mask of pity.

"You just want to show her how great everything is for you here.  I know that the Fashion Club was less than supportive of your coming here, you're not fooling me."  Daria reached over to pump some hand lotion.

"Okay, whatever.  The point is that Stacy is coming and I want to go to that party.  If you can arrange it, I would appreciate it."  Quinn again plunged into the realm of party clothes. 

"No problem, consider it done.  So why didn't Stacy go to Pepperhill with the other girls?"  Daria found herself asking a question that she didn't really want an answer to.

Quinn sat on the floor, matching sweaters to skirts.  "No one went to Pepperhill.  Tiffany is working at Cashman's and going to Lawndale Community College.  That won't last long.  Sandy's at SMU, I think that's where her Dad went."  

"SMU, you must be joking."  

"Better her than me. I promise you, I _never_ want to see Texas again.  Is this cute?"  Quinn held up a long, straight denim skirt with a light blue cashmere sweater.

"It's so cute that my teeth hurt."  

"I think so too, but I can salvage it with this necklace."  She held up a sculpture of twisted strands of blue chunks of glass.

"Actually, that's beautiful." Daria fingered the beads, admiring the colors shot through each.

"I know, I got it at this boutique I think you'd like.  We should go.  There's something there I want you to have."  Quinn jumped up and laid the outfit neatly on the bed.  "Perfect. Let's go."  

"Now?  What about my nap?"  Daria yawned again.

"We'll go by Starbucks for an espresso.  God Daria, you've got to get into this stuff more."  Quinn took Daria by the hand, shooed Joyce out of the room and closed the door.  "I don't trust her with cashmere.  She thinks it's her blanket."

"The cat has a cashmere blanket?"  

"Yes."  Quinn dared Daria to make something of it.

***

"So Daria, are you going to be at the game?  We're going against Bromwell.  They have a decent line, but I think we're going to beat them."  Mike grinned at her as he skated backwards.  

Daria's maneuvered the puck with her stick.  Mike occasionally made a grab for it, forcing Daria to develop her defensive skills.  She broke away from him and he let her get a bit ahead, then he poured on the speed, overtaking her.  Just to prove that he could.  "You keep away from my puck!"  She laughed, elbowing him.

"Hey, make me!"  He nimbly snagged the puck away from her and danced, more than skated away with it.  

"You think you're funny, doncha?"  Daria skated to the pile of pucks and got another one.  

"So, are you coming to the game?"  He tried to get her second puck as well.

"Of course. Jane's coming too."  She clumsily blocked him with her body.  "Get away you thief!"

"That's the idea, don't try to defend with just the stick, use your presence as well."  He stabbed at the puck, but was unsuccessful.  "Are you going to join the intra-mural team?"

"I've been thinking about it.  It seems a waste to have all of this gear and only use it at practice."  Daria referred to her collection of hand-me-down hockey equipment.  

"It's a good thing that the pee-wees don't really tear that stuff up.  You should see what the adults do to their gear.  I hate to think what it must cost to outfit an adult from scratch."

"You get your stuff free anyway."  Daria skated around the boards, closing up one side, forcing him to approach her from an awkward angle.

"Yeah, play on the team, get free stuff.  Hey, did I tell you?  I'm being scouted."  He said this matter-of-factly, as though one's play was routinely evaluated by entities that could make one a millionaire.  

"Really?  Anyone I know?"  Daria stopped skating.

"Hey, keep moving, you don't want to cool down.  NHL, thank God.  I'd leave school for IHL, but my parents would never forgive me.  If I left for NHL, then at least they could understand that."  They were just skating now.  

Daria wasn't handling the puck so much as pushing it around on the ice.  "Wow.  You'd leave school?"  

"To play professionally?  In a heartbeat."  He grew thoughtful.  "I think we both know that I'm just diddling an education here anyway.  Hey, what's with the puss?"

Daria's expression had changed.  "I don't know.  I guess that if you leave, I'll miss you or something."

He chucked her on the arm, "hey, don't be like that.  Maybe I'll end up with the Sabres and we'll still get to hang out together.  If Joe and Jane get married, we'll be walking down the aisle together."  He tried to cheer her up.

"Joe and Jane get married?  Huh?"  Daria's head swam.  All of this stuff she wasn't ready to think about, slamming her head on.

"Hey, you know, after about eight months a guy's got to decide something like that." Mike informed her.

"Eight months?  What?"  

"You know, if you're with a girl for longer than eight months, it means that you'll marry her."  

"What are you talking about?"  Daria stopped at the gate, going through, instead of jumping over it.

"Simple.  Most guys go out with a girl for a while, after a bit you find out what it is about her that makes you nuts and if you can't live with it, you dump her.  If you can find a girl who you can be with for eight months, and she doesn't bug the crap out of you, then you marry her."  

"Is this the basis for your parents' marriage?"  Daria walked into the locker room to change for class. 

"Pretty much.  Hey, they've got a bunch of kids and have been married for thirty years.  If it works for them..."  He helped Daria unlace her skates.

"I guess Joe subscribes to this theory as well?"  Daria put the guards on the blades and began the process of removing the multiple layers of protective gear.

"Yup."  Mike watched as Daria disrobed.  It wasn't sexy, but he hadn't had a girlfriend in a while.

"Has he actually said anything?"  Daria got down to her long johns and started to put her street clothes on.  

Mike was still entranced, even thought it was a reverse striptease.  "No, but I can see it coming.  Before he met Jane, Joe had a whole string of girlfriends.  None of them lasted very long.  I think Jane is the one for him."

"But is he the one for Jane?"  Daria said through her sweater as she dragged it on over her head.

"Maybe.  We could make a bet on it."  

"I'm not going to bet on my best friend's happiness," Daria hung upside down and rubbed some of Quinn's cream through her hair to get rid of 'helmet hair.'  "Besides, I'm not ready for Jane to get married."

"Hey, this stuff happens whether you're ready for it or not.  Look around Daria; the world continues to spin.  People move forward with their plans everyday.  You've got to be more flexible.  Hey, speaking of which, can you take me to Jesse's party?  I want a chance to corner a hot babe in the hot tub."  He changed the subject quickly, noticing Daria's distressed expression.

"You too?"   

"Yes!  Have you seen that penthouse?  It's as close to the Playboy Mansion as I'm likely to get."  He chuckled.

"Not if you make it into the pros."  Daria observed as she grabbed her bags and headed out to class.

"You think?  That's an incentive right there."  He held the door open for her.  

"You are such a guy."  She rapped her knuckles on his helmet.

"I know!"  He laughed and waved as she walked off.

***

Quinn sat in the living room of the Tri-Delt house.  Stacy had called a few times from the road and if she could be trusted to follow directions, would be pulling up within a few minutes.  Quinn both anticipated and dreaded this weekend.  In their senior year she and Stacy had grown apart.  Quinn had always held Stacy at arms length; she was so needy. In their senior year, however, they found that the thin thread of interest that held them together had snapped.  Stacy had served her purpose, ally, comrade, slightly less cute and desirable than Quinn, although by no means ugly, Stacy had always been second prize compared to her.   

Quinn flipped through Waif, wondering what she ever saw in it.  _What Boys Think of Your Look! _ Screamed a headline from the cover.  Who cared?  The guys Quinn dated these days had less to do with looks and more to do with brains.  Her priorities had changed.  She considered what she had accomplished, not just the money, the whole notion of her 'empire' impressed her.  The guys she was with were accomplished as well.  Law Review, captain of the rowing team, old money connections.  She needed someone with enough starch not to be threatened by her overachieving entrepreneurship.  Quinn wondered if Stacy still cried if a guy didn't ask her out for a second date.

The honking of Stacy's VW Bug resounded through the house.  Quinn jumped up and plastered a smile on her face.  _Here we go_, she thought. 

Stacy climbed out of the driver's seat of her graduation present.  She ran up to her old friend and hugged hard.  "I'm so happy to finally see you!"

"I know, it seems like ages!"  Quinn agreed, in many ways it had been ages.

Stacy unloaded her few bags and Quinn showed her the guest room.  "Oh my God!  It's so cute!"  She looked around at the pansy pillows on the bed, the pine tree wallpaper and the stuffed dolphin in the corner.  "We are going to have so much fun!  So what's on the agenda?"

Quinn had not made a mistake in inviting Stacy up for Winter Festival.  She figured that with the non-stop events that they could go all weekend and never exchange more than a few cursory words.

"Here's a program for the next three days." She handed Stacy the official agenda.  "We don't have to do everything, I don't think we'd live if we tried, but there are a few things here that should be fun.  I definitely want to go to the hockey game.  Daria's friend Mike is on the team and he is sooo cute!"  Quinn enthused, not entirely genuine.  "There's a Deke party after, we can go to that, those guys usually do better than a kegger.   Tomorrow night I've got a special treat.  We're going to a party at the _Get Real_ penthouse!"  She waited for Stacy's reaction, and was not disappointed.

"GET OUT!" She screamed.

"I know!  I hope you brought your cutest outfits, because you will need every one of them!"  Quinn was falling back into her high school patterns. Rather than being horrified, she found herself enjoying it.  It was nice to have her own private cheerleader, without having to fight for her attention.  Stacy was so easy to like.

"Will you help me pick out the exact, right thing?  What am I going to wear to the party? Omigod!  We have to shop!"  She wasn't really panicked, she was just excited at the prospect of...everything Winter Festival had to offer.

"Don't worry, you look cute in anything!"  Quinn lied happily.

***

Winter Festival had been a tradition for over 100 years.  It involved all kinds of goofy events, capitalizing on the inclement and snowy New England winter.  There was a human sled dog race, polar bear swimming, an ice carving contest and sporting competitions.  The culmination was the annual Bromwell-Raft hockey match.  Football was still popular, but hockey was king at Raft...it was a sport they could win.  

The girls had spent the rest of the afternoon choosing outfits that were good for the hockey game and for the party afterwards.  Quinn decided on jeans, a Tri Delt turtleneck and a pink anorak style sweater.  She gave the appearance of being sporty and warm, without sacrificing figure-flattering lines.  Stacy, who tried a bit harder, wore low-rider jeans, a black turtleneck and a leather jacket.  Quinn secretly admired the edge Stacy brought to the outfit.  They walked out to the rink with some of Quinn's sorority sisters.

"So Stacy, you're a Tri Delt from Sweet Oak!  I hear that's a really great chapter!" Anissa said as they crunched along the icy path.

"It is!  My sisters are so great.  We go to parties at Bromwell all the time!  I hope the Dekes at Raft are as nice as the Dekes there!  But I'm sure they are!"  She smiled, it seemed that sisterhood entitled her to call Quinn's friends her own.

Anissa shrugged, "I guess.  Parties are fun, but we do more than that.  We just finished some holiday projects.  Christmas angels, canned food drive, the usual stuff.  I'm sure you've got the same things going in your chapter."

Stacy nodded in agreement, not feeling the need to chime in with her own charitable contributions.  An endearing quality.

Lisa, a senior, and secretary of the chapter, hurried them along, "Come on guys, if we're sitting behind the penalty box, we've got to hurry.  Sometimes locals will steal the seats!"  

Stacy listened to the girls talk about their dates for the dance.  "I can't believe that you guys are going to give up the Snow Ball to go to that other party!"  Lisa said, with not a little envy in her voice.

Quinn sighed, "It was a hard decision to make, but my sister begged me to make an appearance.  Stacy, you don't mind missing the ball, do you?"

Stacy pondered the look Quinn was giving her, "Uh-no, not really.  I wish we could go to both."  

Quinn's smile told her that she answered correctly.  "I know, if only...right?  But there will be other Snow Balls."

They arrived and secured their seats.  Quinn saw Daria and Jane seated behind the home team bench.  They waved at each other and settled down to watch the game.

"Isn't that your sister and her clones?"  Jane asked as Daria warmed her hands on a cup of hot chocolate.

"Yeah, the Tri Delts are out in force."  She sipped at the liquid, expecting it to scald and was mildly disappointed that it was merely warm.

"Hey, that one looks familiar."  Jane squinted down the aisle.

"They all look familiar."  She gulped the sweet, vaguely appealing drink.

"No, I mean, don't I know that one?"  She pointed towards Stacy.

"Yeah, that's Stacy.  Remember the ferris wheel ride?"  She drained the cup and tossed it under her seat.

"Huh?"  Jane watched as the teams warmed up.

"At the Renaissance Fair a couple of years ago.  She invited herself into our chair so that she could leak mascara all over us."  Daria brought Jane up to date.

Jane cast her mind back to that day.  "I guess.  She looks a lot better now.  I wish I had that jacket."  

"Whatever.  Oh, I've been meaning to ask you about Joe."

"You have?  I haven't been meaning to ask you about Trent."  

"Are you guys serious?"  Daria wanted to confirm Mike's suspicions. 

"Serious about what?"  Jane concentrated on the drills.

"Serious serious.  You know, getting married, having a family.  Serious."  

"Daria, I've told you not to drink the water you find in those 'vases' in Trent's room."  

Daria smacked Jane on the arm.  "No, Mike said that the guys around here believe that after eight months that if you're still dating that you're headed for the altar."

"Since when do you listen to Mike?  Honestly Daria, don't you have any instincts at all?  Since you've asked let me tell you.  Joe and I are serious.  He dates me and I date him.  I'm too involved right now with school to be bothered with planning a wedding.  I suppose that I love the guy, but I don't want to do anything about it right now.  He might have mentioned getting married and I might have said that I'd think about it, but other than that, the subject is off the table.  So to speak.  So are you and Trent getting married?"  Jane ran her hands through her curls, as though shaking a confession out of them.

"So I'm not crazy, the subject has been broached.  As for me and Trent, we're moving along at a slower pace." Daria smiled.

"So you haven't slept with him yet."  Jane picked out the unpopped kernels from her popcorn.  

"What?"  Daria looked askance.

"Come on, you can tell me.  Actually you don't need to, Trent talks about it."  She offered the popcorn to Daria, who waved it away.

"He _tells_ you these things?" 

Jane swallowed.  "Yeah, why not?  No biggie, he's hot for you, but he's also got you on a pedestal.  I will say that he's used to a certain amount of...action...so you might want to start thinking about surrendering the pink."  

Daria sat in stunned silence.  "Surrendering the _what_?" she finally gasped.

"You know.  Giving it up.  You're going to have to some time; it might as well be him.  At least he has a clue."

"Are we really talking about this _here_?"  

"Would you rather talk about it at the pizza place after the game?"

"Uh _NO_!  I'd rather talk about it _never_."  Daria shifted uncomfortably.  "Did he tell you this?"

"Hey, we're close.  He tells me all kinds of stuff."  Jane thought about it.  "If you want some pointers...."

"AGH! No!  Let's change the subject.  Are you guys going to that party tomorrow?"  Daria was desperate.

"Wouldn't miss it.  We're Jesse's arty friends.  The producers are hoping that Joe gets rough with Levi, that snotty Harvard kid.  Actually, _I_ might punch him out.  He said that Jesse was a vapid poser.  Jesse isn't a poser -- he really _is_ that vapid.  Why don't you come?  The band is playing.  Maybe we can get Trent to sing you a 'very special song for his very special lady'."  Jane laughed.

Daria gagged.  "Hell no!  I'm going to bed early."

"You really should go.  You can hang with us and goof on everyone.  Joe and I have a game plan, we're positioning ourselves near the boom mike and we're going to do a running commentary.  It won't be the same without you.  You do snarky comments better than anyone!"  Jane was twisting, and Daria's arm was giving.

"You mean we can do our own soundtrack where we make scathing comments about other people?  You don't think they'd actually use that in the show do you?"

"No.  But I'll bet we can get the guys to give us the track.  We can dub it in the editing lab, great fun for the entire family.  I plan to use it as a project for my Performance Art class. Come on Morgendorffer, you know you want to."

Daria caved, "okay, but only because it's too delicious to pass up.  I want a producer's credit in the film."

***

When the girls got to the Deke party, things were in full swing.  Stacy looked around.  "Hey, I know some of these guys from Bromwell!  Hi Lloyd!  Hi Randy!  Hi Tim!"  Soon she was surrounded by admirers.  Quinn was taken aback.  Apparently Stacy had her own entourage.

Stacy addressed her beaux.  "So what are you guys doing here?  I didn't think you were coming down."

"Tom decided that he wanted to look up an old friend of his, so since he was driving, we hitched along so we could see the game."  Randy indicated an extremely put out looking Tom Sloane standing by the punch bowl.  

"Quinn, look, you know Tom.  Hi Tom!"  Stacy made a big show of waving to Tom, who countered with a short wave back.  Then he saw Quinn.

Quinn stared at Tom.  Of all the places she might have run into him, a Deke party during Winter Festival was the last place she expected.  She walked over to him.

"Hi Quinn.  So what's new?"  He dipped some punch into a glass for her.  "It's not spiked...yet."  

She took a small sip, "Actually, I'd rather have a can of soda.  This is really...sweet."  She put it down.  Tom handed her the can and she popped the top.  "What are you doing here?"

He looked around; the band was about to get started, so he guided her out to the backyard.  They settled onto a porch swing, where the music wafted over them, instead of blasting them.  "I came to see Daria actually.  I need to talk with her."  

"Oh.  You know that she's got a boyfriend now, right?"  Quinn sipped her soda.

"Right," he grumbled.  "Everyone has a boyfriend.  I figured as much.  No, I don't want to get back with her; I just need to talk.  I'm glad I ran into you, maybe you can tell me where to find her."  

Quinn studied him.  He had always been an enigma to her.  A studious, cute, wealthy guy who liked her sister.  There was something about him that made her uncomfortable.  Although she never had an objection to him, she never approved of him for Daria.  "I'll tell you what, I'll let her know where to find you.  What's your cell number?"  

He wrote it down for her.  "I don't know.  What do you think of all of this?"

"All of what?"  Quinn looked longingly at the door, where the party was.  She hadn't really wanted to have a philosophical conversation about...whatever it was he wanted to talk about.  Tom was a bore.

"You know, going away to college.  The Greek life.  Is it what you expected?"  He didn't seem to give Quinn credit for anything she had accomplished beyond pledging Tri Delt.

"I like it fine.  I think that everyone ought to go to an Ivy League college, pledge a frat or a sorority and make lifelong friends and connections."  She gave him the answer she thought he wanted, mostly to get free of him and back to the party.

Tom wondered why he had bothered to ask her.  Quinn was just one of Them.  One of the drones that went along with the program, pledged a house and was probably on the prowl for her future husband.  It was clear that she wanted to be back in the house, probably dancing on a speaker.  He let her go.  "It sure was good to see you.  Have Daria call me."  He leaned over to buss her on the cheek, in a brotherly manner.

"Great Tom, I sure will!"  She scrunched up the number and crammed it into her jacket pocket.  With that she left him on the porch and went back into the house.  

Quinn looked on amazed as Stacy danced in the middle of the crowd.  It seemed as if the guys were taking turns to be her partner.  Stacy threw her head back and laughed, "I'm SOOOO Drunk!"  The guys cheered and offered her a variety of potables. 

Quinn and Anissa stood in the corner watching.  "The Tri Delt mating call.  I'm so embarrassed for her.  I guess she's always been like this?"  Anissa asked Quinn.

"No.  Not at all.  She used to be shy.  I don't know what this is."  Quinn watched as one of the many Dekes made an offering to Stacy.

Anissa was quick to point out, "I'm not judging.  You're driving, so she might as well get wrecked.  I guess I'm not bold enough to do that."  

"Me either."  Quinn's can was empty and she looked around for someone to get her another. All of the guys were too entranced with Stacy to notice.  Quinn refused to get her own drink.  "Uh...you want to see what movie they're playing?"

"In the basement?  I think it's _Scream_."  Anissa too, was bored, but it was too early to leave.

The two young women stood there, wallflowers, until a young man approached them.  "Uh, can I ask you guys something?"

"I'd love another diet soda," Quinn said.

"I'd be happy to dance with you," Anissa chimed in.

"Uh, okay, I guess.  Stacy came with you right?"  Quinn nodded as he continued, "Can you tell me how I can call her?  She's great!"

By the end of the evening Stacy was Keg Queen and Quinn was beside herself. 

***

"Are you sure you're not mad?" Stacy asked for the eleventh time that morning.

"Of course not Stacy, as long as you had a good time, why would I be mad?"  Quinn stomped around her room, flinging things around.

"You just seem mad.  Are you hungry? I could really use some food.  Something greasy to soak up all of the alcohol I drank last night.  You shouldn't have let me get so trashed."  Stacy giggled.  She was fairly proud of her evening the night before.  When she turned out the pockets of her jacket, slips of phone numbers tumbled out like confetti.

"Oh, I tried, but you seemed to be having so much...fun."  Quinn pulled her sweatshirt on over her jeans.  "I'll take you to breakfast."  She brushed out her hair.

"Okay, let me get ready then.  I won't be a minute."  Stacy gathered up some stuff and headed for the shower.  

Two hours later they sat in the Rosebud Diner.  

"I'll have two poached eggs on spinach and a fruit cup please." Quinn said as she sipped strong, hot tea.

"I'll have the Lumberjack Breakfast please. Eggs over easy." Stacy folded up the menu.  "So I can't wait until tonight.  Some of those guys are so cute.  I can't wait to meet Levi.  Have you been there before?"

Quinn sighed.  She was tired.  They hadn't gotten home until around four in the morning.  Stacy had insisted on tucking all of the guys into bed.  She said it was something that she did for the Dekes at Bromwell all the time.  The way that Stacy had morphed into scintillating party girl was disconcerting.  Quinn still could not believe that Stacy had been the life of the party.  All Stacy needed was a lampshade and the evening would have been complete.  Now Quinn had to make polite conversation for the next 48 hours, and it was too much to bear.

"No, but I think it should be fun."  Quinn gave her tea yet another stir.

"We need to have a completely different look.  Something more revealing."  Stacy's eyes sparkled.

Quinn had a notion of what Stacy might wear and she shuddered.  Quinn had never been one for revealing anything.  She liked to think that she had a mystique; that by keeping some things to herself that she was endlessly fascinating.  Apparently Stacy had opted for the opposite look.  Put it all out there.  

"I have the perfect thing." Quinn thought about her black Prada dress.  She had picked it up on her last trip to New York at a sample sale.  It was one of a kind.  There was no way that Stacy could top her when she was wearing Prada.  It was perfect for the party, elegant but also very trendy.

"Oh I'm sure you do. You're so lucky, you can wear anything."  Stacy gushed.  Their food had arrived and Stacy began to dig in.  The butter melted temptingly on the pancakes which were dotted with crumbled, crispy bacon.  She speared a sausage and before she bit into it said, "Hey Quinn, what does this remind you of?"

"Stacy, ewww!"  Quinn replied.  

"No!  Austin Powers."  She dug into her breakfast.

"Stacy, not that you're fat or anything, but aren't you afraid that maybe if you eat too much..." Quinn could not believe that Stacy was devouring so much food.

Stacy paused to breathe.  "No, actually, I have a problem keeping weight on.  When I was hanging around with you guys in high school, I'd have to secretly eat so I wouldn't waste away.  It's liberating to be able to be myself.  God, this is delicious.  I wish I could get someone to make pancakes like this for me at Sweet Oak." She was practically licking the plate.

"Wow, I had no idea.  How lucky."  Quinn lifted the egg yolks out of her spinach on put them on a separate plate.  She began to chop everything up.  Rapidly.  Into little tiny pieces.

"I know.  My Mom is the same way.  Even today she just eats and eats.  It's fun."  Stacy finished her second hot chocolate and indicated to the waitress that she wanted another.  

Quinn was finding a new respect for Stacy, as well as a virulent hatred.

***

After breakfast, which ended at about two o'clock, Quinn and Stacy went to enjoy some of the Winter Festival events.  They watched the Human Dog Sledding races.  Predictably, Sigma Chi won the event, since they had the most athletes in their frat.  Although it was cold, Stacy insisted on walking around the campus to see every ice sculpture.  Everywhere they went, guys stopped to talk to them. Quinn tried to get them to move along, but Stacy spoke to everyone.

"Hi Stacy, remember me from last night?"  A blond, Nordic fellow asked her.

"That's always such a bad way to introduce yourself."  She chided, "I know who you are silly!  You're Bruce.  You let me kiss your Teddy!"  She hugged him as though he were a family member at the airport.  

"So are you going to be my date at the Snow Ball tonight?"  He was nearly begging.

"And break some other girl's heart?  No way."  She giggled, "Besides, I'm going to a party tonight."  

He looked disappointed.  "Promise me you'll call before you leave town."

Quinn dragged her away, but she called over her shoulder, "I programmed you into my phone!"  After Quinn had nearly pulled her a half a mile, Stacy dug in her heels and brought the two of them to a halt. "God Quinn, what is your problem?"  

"I don't have a problem, _Stacy dear_.  I just want a chance to soak in the tub before we go to the party tonight.  I'm nearly frozen."  

"Are you sure that's it?"  Stacy's syrupy sweet tones had changed.

"I'm positive.  What else would it be?"  Quinn emphasized the last sentence.  There was no misinterpreting her meaning.

"You're right.  You could _never_ be jealous of me.  You're my _friend_."  Stacy knew what she was saying, and dared Quinn to deny it.

"Don't be silly.  Of course I'm your friend.  Friends aren't jealous of each other." Quinn paused dramatically.  "I don't want to fight everyone at the house for the tub, I think I'll go to _my house_ and dress.  You don't mind, do you?  We'll grab your clothes on the way over."  She smiled, having trumped Stacy's hand.  They would go to Quinn's house.  The house she bought.  With her hundreds of thousands of dollars that she _earned_.  _Jealous my ass_, she thought as Stacy conceded this round of the fight. 

"Okay, I wanted to see your house anyway.  It sounds really nice."  Stacy smiled.  Quinn had seen that smile before, it was creepy then and it was creepy now.  

***

Daria and Trent nuzzled each other on the sofa.  He kissed her cheeks softly as she dug her fingers into his chest.  "So you're going to be at the party?"  Daria asked as she kissed him back.

He stopped for a moment.  "Yeah, why did you change your mind?"  

"I'll be there.  Wouldn't miss it."  She held his face in her hand.

"So you heard that Levi is going to get his ass kicked too?"  He smiled at her, reaching for the button on her Henley shirt.

She smacked his hand away.  "You doofus, hadn't you noticed that it doesn't unbutton beyond the top of my bra?"  

"Can't blame me for trying."  He smiled again, pressing his advantage.

"Oh, that reminds me.  Your sister and I had a conversation.  Are you by any chance telling her stuff about us?"  She smiled like Joyce when she had cornered a moth.

Trent grew confused. "Yeah.  I tell Jane stuff all the time. So?"

"Well, don't tell her real intimate stuff.  Don't you think you should be talking to me about that?"

"Oh, you mean sex."  He straightened up.  "So do you want to?"  

"Smooth, Lane, real smooth."  She sat up and smoothed her hair.

"Man, it was so nice, why are we stopping to have this argument?"  He complained.

"It's not an argument, it's a discussion."  She corrected.

"Whatever, we're not making out anymore, we're talking."  He pouted and started looking for the exits.

"It just seems to me that before you air our laundry in public, that maybe you should ask me first."  

"Fine.  My bad.  Can we kiss some more?"  He reached for her.

At first she resisted, but then she thought, _we hardly ever get to have time together_, and she gave in.  "Okay, but no more talking to your sister about what we do and don't do together."

"Shut up and kiss me."  

Just as the world began to melt away the door flew open and a blast of cold air blew in.  "DA-R-I-A!" Quinn screamed.

Daria sat up and straightened herself out as Trent continued to recline against the sofa pillows.  "I'm right here, you don't have to shout."

"Oh.  Sorry."  Quinn realized that she had interrupted them, "Really sorry.  Hi Trent."

He sat up.  "Hi Quinn.  This your friend?"  He indicated Stacy.

Stacy waved.  "Hi guys."  

"We came over to get ready for the party."  Quinn dropped a train case at the foot of the stairs.  Stacy was holding some clothing on hangers draped over her arms.  

Daria looked at her watch. "But that's not for another few hours."  

Quinn gave her a look, "I know, we don't have much time.  Dibs on the tub!  Stacy, if you want you can start dressing in my room, or you can sit down here and watch TV."  She bolted up the stairs, not waiting for Stacy's response.  

Stacy stood in the doorway, glancing up the stairs and back into the living room, as though deciding where best to kill some time.  "I guess she wants some alone time.  Mind if I hang with you guys?"  

Trent stood up and stretched.  "Go ahead.  I need a nap before we go.  A musician needs to be well rested."  He headed for the stairs.  "Daria, wake me at about 8:30, I need to be there for sound check."

"Trent, doesn't the party start at eight?"  Daria tried to keep him honest.

"These things never start on time.  Besides, we're too cool to be on time."  He clomped up the stairs.

"I'll get him up at seven.  He's just trying to be dramatic."  Daria informed a giggling Stacy.  "So what do you want to watch?"  Daria handed her a guide.

Stacy shrugged, "I don't watch much TV, whatever you want to watch will be fine."  She snuggled into the deep sofa cushions.  

Daria manipulated the numerous remotes and put on the SSW Network.  All Sick Sad World, all the time.  She looked over to get Stacy's approval, but the co-ed had dropped off to sleep.  "Perfect."  Daria allowed her eyes to shut as well.

At about seven everyone in the house was in various stages of dress.  Stacy was in a robe fussing with her hair.  Quinn was helping Daria put some make up on.  Trent had showered and was debating which pair of faded, holey, black jeans to wear.  

"Quinn, I'm not sure about this.  You know that I don't really wear make up."  Daria protested, although she was fascinated with what Quinn was doing to her.

"I know, but remember this is going to be taped.  The harsh lights are going to make you look even more pale and washed out than you usually are.  This is just going to make you seem healthy."  She brushed on a golden powder designed to reflect light.

Daria looked at her face.  Quinn was right; it wasn't really 'made up' it just made her look pretty.  "You would know.  Promise me that you'll stop before we reach Bozofication."  

Quinn stepped back.  "I'm done now.  Your hair looks fine.  Do you want me to put an ornament in it?"

"Like what?"  Daria was still checking herself out.

"Don't touch it!" She said, smacking Daria's hand away from her face, " I've got this barrette, or this tiara."  She held them up.

"No way.  I'm done."  Daria got up and headed back to her room.

"Can I borrow the barrette Quinn?"  Stacy asked.  She had tried to stay out of Quinn's way for the past few hours, hoping that Quinn would calm down and forget their 'fight' in the quad.  

"Sure, want me to put it in?"  Quinn offered.

"Thanks!" Stacy beamed, everything was back to normal.  

An hour later, everyone was ready.  Trent had left early, to help set up.  Daria was waiting for Jane, Joe and Mike to pick her up.  

"Daria, I'll drive if you want.  You can come with us."  There was a pleading quality to Quinn's voice.  If Daria didn't know better, she'd think that Quinn didn't want to be alone with Stacy.

"No, they've already left.  Besides, we're stopping for a slice on the way over.  We have reason to believe that the food won't actually be edible."  Daria explained.  She'd rather endure root canal than share a ride with Quinn and Stacy.

Quinn grabbed her keys.  "Suit yourself.  I'm taking Stacy for a lobster...or two.  We want to arrive fashionably late."  

Stacy stole one last look at Daria on the sofa.  "Bye, it was nice seeing you again."

"Bye, it will be nice seeing you in about an hour or so."  Daria replied as they went out into the cold winter night.  

The door opened almost immediately and admitted Jane, Joe and Mike.  Mike's attention was on Stacy as she climbed into Quinn's car.  "Wow, I sure hope they're going where we're going."  

"They are. I'm ready.  I sure could use a slice, I haven't eaten anything since breakfast." Daria grabbed her coat and keys.  

"Personally, I've got a wicked craving for a salad. And a slice.  I guess I'm pretty hungry too."  Jane's stomach growled for effect.  "Right on cue."  

Little did they know that in just a couple of hours they would all be immortal.

***

When Daria arrived the penthouse had been transformed.  What was generally extremely modern and angular, had been transformed with fairy lights, ribbons and gauze.  The apartment felt like a giant tent in the sky, with twinkling lights above and the twinkling lights of Boston spread out like a carpet below them.  

Before they filed in they each completed a waiver, primarily giving the network permission to use them in the broadcast as well as absolving the network of any responsibility for anything that might occur.  

Daria paused to read it, Jane snatched the pen out of her hand, "Just sign it, it's too stupid to hold up in court anyway."  Jane scrawled her signature and everyone else followed suit.

Jane helped herself to a wine cooler and was told by the waiter that she would be required to drink it with the label visible to the camera.  

"So where is everyone?"  Daria glanced around the sparkling wonderland, dotted with elegant waiters and glamorous food, missing only party guests.

"Fashionably late?"  Jane suggested, passing up an opportunity to munch an eel satay.  

"We're not that uncool, something's wrong."  Daria walked over to the platform, which normally held an oversized dining room table, but had been converted to a makeshift stage for the band.  "Trent, Jesse, where are the guests?"  

Jesse stopped fussing with his amp.  "Uh, everyone I invited came." He pointed to Amber, who was on the phone frantically arguing with someone, "She's been trying to get people up here all night.  She's so obnoxious, I think she alienated everyone."  

"But Ashley, you promised.  What do you mean you'd rather go to the Snow Ball?  Don't you want to be on television?  Please?"  She pleaded, "Okay, fine, I guess you'd rather just...SHIT!  That bitch hung up on me!"  She slammed the phone down in frustration.  

"It's been like that all night."  Jesse continued to tape down cable.  "We'll be ready to go in a few minutes."  He waved at Gareth and Mark, who waved back.

"Where's everyone else?"  Daria looked around, even the roommates were absent.

"Bobb locked himself into the video confessional.  Kaleigh and Myra went to get a bottle of vodka and I think some X, but don't quote me on that.  Levi is up in his room trying to get his hair right.  Agnes, is reading her bible and deciding if she should wear party clothes or her regular Amish stuff.  She's having a hard time."

Daria's eyebrows raised, "I'll bet.  So what you've got here is a big nothing then?"  

Jesse looked around, "So far."  

Jane brought out her digital camera and made a panoramic view of the penthouse, "What we have here boys and girls is the beginning of a big dud."  

Joe and Mike each had a beer, green bottles and labels prominent as they sipped.  They toasted the girls and surveyed the stacked cases in the corner with a terrific thirst.  

Daria shook her head, "This isn't good."

Jane continued to record, "Why?  A fabulous failure is just as good as a wonderful success."  

"No it isn't.  If this is boring it never makes it to air.  If this is boring the band doesn't get national exposure.  If this is boring I'll have ruined my evening.  I could have done my homework."  Daria explained.  

"So what's the plan?"  Jane asked as she turned the camera on Daria.

"We make a party."  She strode over to the producers.  "Guys, what you've got here is a flop."

Gareth ran his fingers through his artistically shaggy hair.  "We just thought everyone was fashionably late."  

"No, this is a fiasco.  But I can fix it."  She smiled at Gareth, "do you trust me?" 

"Petal, you have my complete confidence."  He breathed a sigh of relief.  

"Hand me your phone, I don't want to waste my minutes.  Mike, what's the number at your house?"

In five minutes Daria had called Melissa, the hockey team, Antoine, Quinn on her cellular, Jane's suitemates and Joe's extended family.  In thirty minutes people began to arrive.  At ten-thirty the party began to get going.  By eleven, all of the twee hors d'ouvres were gone and pizza delivery was immanent.  

Gareth kissed Daria on the cheek, "Darling, this is amazing.  You've saved the day."  

"No, I saved the band.  But you owe me.  Start by getting me a sparkling water, I'm parched."  She stood with her back against the wall, near one of the sound technicians.

Gareth ran to do as he was told.  Trent surveyed the scene.  It wasn't what he had anticipated.  It seemed that instead of the beautiful, party people that were expected, the whole house had exploded into some kind of prom night, street gang, jock nightmare.

Kevin brought beers to the band, and arranged them artistically on the equipment, for maximum product placement.  "Dude, this party is huge!"

"Yeah, how did that happen?"  Trent swigged out of his bottle, and put it down on his amp.

"Daria did something.  Man, I had no idea she was popular."  He wiped up the condensation and put a napkin coaster under the bottle. 

"There's a bunch of stuff you don't know about her."  Trent said with awe.  He was beginning to think that Daria could fix a rainy day.  "Get off the stage, we're going to do our first set."  Kevin hopped off and back behind the mixing board.   "We're Mystik Spiral. We're stuck with the name, so get used to it.  We're here tonight to _Get Real_!  One-two-three!"  And they swung into the new version of the theme song.  

Gareth's eyes shone with tears, "Oh this is brilliant," he exclaimed as everyone in the room began to dance and bop.  

"They did a good job," Daria agreed.

"Daria, can you get Trent to stop hogging the front of the stage, I can't get a clear view of Max."  Jane's camera continued to roll.  

"Right, I'll just give him the bat signal."  

"Something, oh wait, never mind, he moved.  Oh this is gorgeous."  She disappeared into the 'mosh pit'.  

Stacy and Quinn arrived just as everything was getting into full swing.  "Quinn, I can't believe that I'm here!"  Stacy gushed.  "Oh, it's more beautiful than it is on television.  Look, there's Jesse!  Do you think he'll ask me to dance?  Omigod!  This is so GREAT!"  Stacy nearly jumped up and down with excitement.

"Wow, it sure looks nice." Quinn approved of the decorations.  She swung her hair around dramatically and looked for the cameras.  A waiter, who had managed to lose all parts of his uniform except his pants offered them drinks.

"My favorite, Kiwi-Lemonade Zima!"  Stacy grabbed two, in case the Zima mobile, which was parked on the street, somehow ran out of the product.

"I'll stick to Pelligrino, since I'm driving."  Quinn took a bottle and a straw off of the tray.  "Keep these coming," she said as she slid a five-dollar bill into the waistband of his pants.

"Gotcha beautiful!"  He smiled at her and winked.   It was only after he had gone did Quinn realize that he did it for the camera, not her.  They wended their way through the crowd.  Quinn noted that her sorority sisters had made from the dance, still in their formals. "Oh you guys!"  She ran to hug them, "I'm so glad you could make it on such short notice!  I know how much you wanted to come so I pulled every string I had to get you on the list!"

Anissa smiled and squealed back, "I know!  This is so great!  Quinn, you are the best sister ever!"  It seemed that a mass of bridesmaids had crushed Quinn in a rustle of taffeta.

Stacy had managed to make her way over to the band.  She caught Jesse's eye and began to openly flirt with him while he performed.  At least that's what it would have been, if Jesse could do two things at once.  She managed to crowd her way onto a speaker and she began to dance in such a way as to insure that she was noticed.

Jane moved the camera onto Stacy.  It was balletic the way Stacy had used the latest dance moves in time with the ballad the band was playing.  Quinn stepped back just in time to see that yet again Stacy had the whole party in the palm of her hand.

Jane, with her eye for cinematic moments saw him descend the staircase.  Levi had finally emerged from his bedroom.  He wanted to come down at exactly the right moment, when the Levi-frenzy was at its zenith.  He waited until after midnight to grace the party with his presence.  As he made his way down, he realized that no one was watching.  He saw masses of people and none of them appeared to be watching him.  He followed the direction of the stares and saw Stacy gyrating, seemingly in midair.  

Slowly he moved through the crowd.  Attracted to that which was stealing his attention.  Like a magpie, he was drawn to the bright, shiny object...Stacy.  He stood at eye-level with her knees, encased in tight leather.  He allowed his gaze to travel up, past the bare mid-section, to where the peak of her handkerchief top barely concealed the curve of her breasts.  He never made it to her face.  He reached up and tried to pull himself up to her, he tried to grab her hand, but got her elbow instead.  

"Hey! Look, but don't touch!"  She admonished him as she continued to dance.

Levi wasn't a guy who explained things.  Levi was a guy who was always six moves ahead of the game.  He knew how this was going to end.  He and this bewitching creature were going to be the king and queen of the _Get Real House Party_.  There was no doubt.  Where the spotlight was, Levi deserved his share.  Again he tried to move up to her level.  The noise and heat from the crowd was making his hair wilt.  He needed to be far above it all, with Stacy in his arms and the camera on his face, he could see it now.  He turned his face toward the source of the energy, again his hand grabbed for hers, this time he got the hem of her top, and that was the last thing he saw.

Jane had closed in on them capturing Levi's hunger perfectly.  The first thing that moved into the frame with his face was Stacy's boot.  The point of it connected perfectly with his nose.  When it was shown in slow motion, you could see the smile change at the moment of impact, just as the nose caved in.  From perfect, to flawed in one second.

Levi's head jerked back, and he grabbed his nose in pain.  Instinctively the crowd moved away, giving Stacy room to do what she needed to do.  She jumped off the speaker like a super hero, crouched down and circled her prey.  "I said, leave me alone!"  He stood up and rather than walk away, he tried to explain, again, attempting to make contact with her.  His arm didn't even get within a foot of her before she grabbed him by the wrist and flipped him over her back.  In one moment he went from biped, to a slug on the floor.

"AAGH!"  He screamed, grabbing his nose.  "She's trying to kill me!"  

Quinn had tried to run toward the commotion, but Daria had held her back, "No, you might muss your dress."  

Quinn looked down at her Prada outfit and realized the wisdom in this, but instinctively, she wanted to help her friend. "But Daria...Stacy..."

"Is doing fine on her own.  Let her do this."  Daria had always had a bloodlust.  

"Are you okay?"  One of Mike's teammates asked Stacy, as he steered her away from the carnage.  "That guy needs to know that No means No.  Let me get you a drink, you must be shaken up."

Stacy allowed herself to be led away while the paramedics, who were standing by, attended to Levi.  

"Well, that's our cue to play one of our newer songs." Trent said into the microphone as everyone shook off the excitement.  "It's called, If You Only Knew.  Kind of appropriate."  He counted it off and the band started back up.  The dance floor filled up, but Stacy's speaker was conspicuously empty.  

A group of sympathetic hockey players had grouped around Stacy, discussing her methods for inflicting damage, comparing notes. 

"Daria, I don't know what it is.  You remember how in high school, all of the guys wanted me?  Now they all want her.  I don't understand."  Quinn appealed to Daria because she always knew everything.

"Well, that was high school.  Before you got smart, rich and famous.  You were easy for a guy to like then because you had no complications.  You didn't threaten them.  Look around Quinn, who here would be on your level?"  Daria swept her hand as though introducing the party to her sister.

Quinn looked around objectively.  "Some of the hockey team is cute."  

"Sure, but if you went on a date, what would you talk about?"  Daria sipped her water.  

Quinn pondered the question, "I don't know."

"Right.  You don't know because you don't know anything about what they do.  They don't know anything about what you do.  You might spend some time getting to know one of the guys, but on the surface, they know that they aren't going to get you back to their place with just fifteen minutes of flattery."  Daria indicated to the waiter, now only in his boxers that she wanted another.

"You mean they think she's...easy?"  Quinn's eyes widened.  The one thing the Fashion Club had always agreed on was that they weren't the kind of girls to sleep around.  They had WAY too much self-esteem to be swayed by mere flattery. "She's not though!"  

"But she _acts _like that.  She acts like someone who is out for a good time.  Maybe she is.  People change, what they want changes."  Daria looked at her watch.  It was way past the time she had planned to stay at the party.  "Are you ready to go?  I'm really tired...of this place.  I need fresh air."  

"Do you think that Stacy has changed that much?"  Quinn couldn't move past the idea that Stacy might actually be a party animal.

"I don't know.  She's your friend.  If you guys are going, can you give me a lift?  I think Jane wants to stay until the last candle is blown out, and I know that Mike won't go until he gets to sit in the hot tub with someone."  

Quinn sagged.  She smoothed the pleats in her party dress and realized that for the entire weekend she had been judging herself by standards that hadn't applied to her in a long, long time.  "I'm really ready.  Let me see if I can convince Stacy."  

It took about ten minutes to settle everything.  As the three left, the party was starting to wind down.  Kaleigh and Myra had called from jail.  They had been picked up in a sting trying to buy X and needed to be bailed out of jail.  Gareth sighed, "I sure hope they take credit cards."  

On the way home Daria snuggled into the heated leather seats and thought about how nice her bed would feel.  Stacy seemed strangely drained, for the first time all weekend.  

"Quinn, I'm so sorry I ruined your evening."  She ventured as Quinn drove through the empty streets.

"Stacy, don't be silly, I had a great time."  Quinn turned down the radio; the music jarred her already frayed nerves.

"Please, it's obvious that you didn't.  It's my fault isn't it?"  Stacy reached into the side panel for the box of tissue that Quinn kept there.

"No Stacy, it's not your fault.  I'll admit that I don't find parties and flirting as much fun as you appear to. But that's not your fault.  I've changed."  Quinn turned on the defroster.

"I've changed too, that's the problem.  Does it bother you that I'm getting the attention now?"  

Quinn chewed her lip, "I'd be lying if I said that it didn't at first.  I guess I'm used to being the one with the guys lined up, but it's not like I'm trying for that anymore.  I think I got bugged because it's not natural for me anymore."

"It's not natural for me.  You know, when I hung out with you and Sandi and Tiffany, I always felt like the ugly one in the group.  You always had the best dates, and the cute guys following you around.  You seemed to act like it was your birthright.  I even believed it.  I was happy taking whatever you didn't want.  Do you know how many times I was on a date with a guy who just went on and on about you?"   Stacy's voice wobbled with tears.

"Oh, that must have been awful.  I'm so sorry." Quinn genuinely was sorry.  Guys could be such jerks.

"It wasn't your fault, but it made me feel yukky.  When I got to Sweet Oak I found that people liked me for me, I made new friends and guys talked to me because they wanted to be with _me_.  I can't remember any time since we've become friends when I was the first choice, not the last."  

"But now you are.  Stacy, you were always the prettiest one among all of us.  You're definitely the nicest one.  I think it's great that you're getting the attention that you want."  Quinn felt generous, mostly because she was giving away something she didn't need anymore. 

"You're the smartest one.  I can tell.  You made that scrunchie business successful, and here you are at Raft.  I thought you were jealous of me, because I got all the guys, but that's not it, is it?"  Stacy stopped sniffling.

"What do you mean?"  Quinn was puzzled, she really had been jealous for most of the weekend.

"You were just bored.  You've been there, you've done that and you've moved on.  You don't like doing this stuff anymore, do you?"  Stacy crumpled the tissue and put it in her pocket.

"Sure I do...no, I really don't."  Quinn realized it as she said it, "I don't.  Sure, a party once in a while can be fun, but I don't need to go out every weekend.  I like sitting at my house watching TV.  I like working on my business.  I like doing my homework.  Oh my gosh, I don't."  Quinn felt good for the first time in three days.

"Do you think we can still be friends?"  Stacy asked, tears threatening to spill over her big, beautiful eyes.

Quinn didn't want to come back with a glib answer; she felt that Stacy deserved the truth.  "You know what, I do want us to be friends.  We have history.  You know my secrets.  I know your secrets.  Maybe it won't be like it was in Lawndale, but I think that you're someone I want to have in my life."

Stacy sighed with relief.  "That's how I feel.  I guess I won't be asking you to come to Sweet Oak for the Carnation Walk, but maybe we can get together every now and then, for a sleep-over or something."

"I'd like that.  Just girls, relaxing, giggling, looking through magazines.  That would be fun."  Quinn smiled.

"Oh, we could get videos, you know, the kind guys don't like to watch."  

"Yeah, I could look forward to that."  Quinn turned down the street and pulled up into the driveway.  "Daria, wake up!  You're home!"

Daria started awake, aware that she had drooled a bit.  "Huh?  Great. Home."

"Use some of that cream in the bathroom to take your makeup off before you go to bed."  Quinn counseled.

"Yeah, and I'll kiss the cat for you too.  'Night."  Daria stumbled out of the car and into the house.  

"Your sister is really coming out of her shell." Stacy observed.

"I think she's always been like this, we just didn't know what to make of it."  Quinn replied, waiting for Daria to flick the porch light to let her know that it was okay for her to drive away.

"That makes sense.  Can we get some eggs?  I'm starving!"  Stacy asked as they approached an IHOP.

"Okay, that's definitely one thing I am jealous of.  I wish I could eat like you!"  Quinn pulled into the restaurant.  

***

**Epilogue:**

It turned out that the _Get Real House Party_ was the highest rated episode in the show's history.  Jane had worked a deal with the producers; in exchange for her footage, she got access to theirs.  Jane even got an assistant director's credit for the episode.   Her project not only earned her an A, but it became a special feature when the DVD was released.  

Late night comedians used Stacy as the punch line of jokes for a while.  She even made it to Number 3 of David Letterman's Top Ten List of Things Tony Soprano is Afraid Of, before Cappocola Ham and after Spending Eternity in Hell.  

Kaleigh and Myra were able to plead down to a misdemeanor and received probation and community service.  It was decided that they could remain on _Get Real_, but only if they made a Public Service Announcement and refrained from using any kind of intoxicants, except for those of the sponsors.  

Levi's broken nose healed up just fine, although he maintains that there is a small imperfection in it.  He made noises that he was going to sue Stacy, but after seeing the episode aired, especially the way that it portrayed him, he decided to drop it.  He is now trying to get his own reality show, about how a brilliant Harvard student manages to get by in a world of normal people.  The working title is: _Genius at Work_.  

Bobb never did come out of the video confessional.  The fire department finally broke down the door and took him away late Sunday afternoon.  Bobb was replaced by Melissa; who has lengthy discussions with Agnes about religion and constantly gets on Amber about not doing her share of the cleaning. 

Mystik Spiral had moderate success with a release of an EP of songs they had performed on the show, including their version of the theme song.  They bought a new van with their share of the money. 


	20. You Don't Know Trent

 You Don't Know Trent By Ruthless Bunny 

Jane Lane sat at the table, absorbed in what she was writing.  Her pen scratched across the page as she quietly waited for her lunch companions.  They weren't rudely late; she had planned to spend a few minutes alone, catching up with her correspondence.  

She had paused to consider her next phrase when Daria and Trent blew in.  Blew in was the appropriate description.  It was a blustery, winter day and snow had been falling in large, fat flakes for about an hour.  When the door opened the wind nearly snatched it out of Trent's hand and brought with it a dusting of snow.  "Hey!"  A waitress chastened them, as they bustled into the diner.

"Sorry." Trent muttered; taking advantage of the over-burdened coat tree positioned near the door.  He helped Daria off with her coat as well.  He tried to arrange the coats so that the stand wouldn't topple over as Daria moved to the booth where Jane was sitting.

Jane held up a finger to indicate that she needed a moment to complete her thought.

"Homework?"  Daria inquired as Jane put away her writing materials.

"No, just a letter home."  Jane folded it gently and placed it into the aviator's bag that she used as a purse cum backpack.  

Daria furrowed her brow.  Home?  To whom?  She didn't know if she should inquire, but Trent had approached just as Jane had stashed the paper.

"Why bother?"  He sat down next to Daria as she shoved over to make room.

"What do you mean?  I think that since they're paying for this clambake that they deserve to be kept abreast of my doings here."  She sipped at a mug of hot chocolate, getting a small spot of whipped cream on her nose.

Trent snorted.  "How do you even know that they're getting the letters?"  

Jane sighed, "Hey, I send them to the house."

"So there's no chance at all that they've seen any of them."  Trent opened the menu and considered what he wanted to eat.  

"Who peed in your cornflakes?  Why do you care who I write to?"  Jane said defensively.  "The soups are split pea, clam chowder and vegetable."  She tried to change the subject.

"Do you write to Summer, Wind or Penny?  Do _they_ write you back?"  He asked.

Daria felt trapped in the corner of the booth.  She suddenly lost her appetite and the craving for a nice, hot bowl of soup.  All she wanted was to be far away.  What was wrong with Trent?  Why did he seem so pissed off?  Could she escape by crawling under the table?  

"Look, I don't know why this bothers you.  I feel like writing, okay?  Can we drop it and have a nice lunch?"  Jane attempted to placate him, but he was already on his feet.

"Never mind, I've got something to do anyway. You guys go ahead and eat.  Daria, I'll meet you back home."  He got up, grabbed his coat off the rack, causing it to sway and again, flung the door open on his way out.

Daria stared at Jane, and Jane stared back at Daria.  "What was that about?"  They said simultaneously. 

Jane shook her head, "I don't know why it bothers him that I write to them.  Why?  Does it cost him anything?"  She picked at the peanuts that were on the table.  They ordered their food, but sat silently for a moment.

Daria didn't know what to say.  She had never seen Trent...unmellow. His display disconcerted her.  "Have you ever seen him like that?  It's so uncharacteristic."

The waitress brought soup and they began to eat as steam rolled off the top of it.  

Jane swallowed and stirred the croutons into the bowl.  "Yeah, he gets like this about the family.  He's got issues." 

"Issues?"  Daria crumbled a cracker into her bowl.  "What issues?"

"He's never talked about it with you?  Never?"  Jane's eyebrows cocked.

"What?"  Daria was genuinely confused.

"Oh, he thinks that Mom and Dad ran out of steam by the time they had us, he feels like they abandoned us with the older kids, which was pretty much like being left with wolves."  Jane flagged down the waitress to request a refill on the chocolate.

"Well, wasn't it?"  Daria didn't really know the other kids, but she did know that when they came to town, both Jane and Trent liked to be in a different location, preferably a different area code.

"I think he makes too much of it.  I know that they love us.  I know that they care about where we are and what we're doing." She blew across the spoon to cool the liquid, "He just feels ripped off that we weren't like the other kids."  

"Oh.  So where are your parents these days?"  She chewed a clam and waited for the response.

"So what are you?  On his side?" Jane put her spoon down. "You know what?  I think I need to go home.  I'll see you later."  Jane threw some money down and left in an imitation of her brother.

"Okay then.  Lunch for one."  

***

Trent paced back and forth across the living room.  Joyce followed along side him, mostly for exercise.  He knew that one day it would come out. About the family.  He knew that at some point he'd have to explain.  He knew that Daria understood the situation, but he didn't know how much she knew about it.  How do you explain to someone that your parents don't care about you?  

Trent thought back to his childhood, those months he spent in the tent, cold, scared, miserable.  Who else but Jane had bothered to check in on him?  Who else even cared?  His father spent so much time on the road; he wondered why he bothered to have kids.  There were days when he wondered how there could have been five kids; he was home so infrequently.  

The stereo was blasting Nirvana's "Smells Like Teen Spirit." It was the perfect song to enjoy rage to.  He felt his head moving back and forth involuntarily as the line, _I feel stupid and contagious,_ blasted across the living room.

"Is it necessary for this to be entertaining the neighbors?"  Daria turned it down and sat on the sofa.  "Are you okay?"  

He sulked for a moment.  Joyce played with one of his frayed bootlaces and he thought.  Daria waited.  

"Do you know how Jane pays for school?"  Daria shook her head.  "She took a book of checks before we left Lawndale.  She just writes a check every time she needs to pay tuition, or books.  Do you know why?"  

"No."  Daria felt lead in her stomach.  She hated to see him so worked up.

"Because they didn't come home before she left for school.  They weren't there for her graduation.  They weren't there the time that she got that rusty nail in her foot.  They weren't there when she got her heart broken...uh, sorry."  He thought for a moment.  "They weren't there. Even when they were there, they were always more concerned about themselves.  Mom and that damn kiln.  I remember once, I was sick at school and I wanted her to come get me, so they called her at home.  Do you think that she could be bothered to answer the phone?  No.  So I threw up in a trash can in the nurse's office all afternoon, then I had to ride the bus home."

"Oh, that sounds really bad."  Daria hugged the sofa cushion to her, hoping that he'd stop being so angry, so obviously furious.   

"I guess.  You know, I didn't really want to go into this.  But I think we're getting to the point where you need to know some stuff." He sat on the sofa next to her.  "I hate my parents." He waited for her to deny it for him.  She merely nodded, encouraging him to go on.  "They had kids like they picked up cats.  No thought, no planning, just popping one out every so often.  Jesus, I know I'm one of the last, but you'd think that they would have stopped having kids if they didn't want to raise them."

"They must love you..."  Daria didn't know what to say, but she wanted to say something that would calm him down.  

"I don't think that they do.  You know that I really wrote 'Icebox Woman' about my Mom.  I put some stuff in there to make it sound like a relationship, but it's really about how my Mom just doesn't care."  

"So why do you think they had so many children, if they didn't want you?"  Daria hoped that he would realize that he was wrong and calm down. 

"I have never figured it out.  She actually let Summer eat nothing but Pez one year.  And my Dad, there's a winner.  He's more of a sperm donor than a father.  Have you ever met my Dad?"  He got up, it was too hard keeping his anger going sitting down.  

"No."  Daria admitted.

"You've known us for five years, and you've never met my Dad? What does that tell you?  To be honest, I'm not entirely sure that _I've_ met my Dad.  Let me tell you, I can stand him for about three minutes.  He comes into town, scatters his stuff all over, takes over the bathroom for hours and hours of photo processing, oblivious to the fact that the rest of the family might need something in there.  And then, he pays absolutely no attention to any of the kids who might be around.  I'll never forget about three years ago when he was visiting, I asked him where Jane was and he said, '_She was just here a few minutes...days ago_.'  Jesus, _days_?  I just thought, _screw this_; _if that's how much he cares_... he made me sick.  That's when I came and slept on the couch at your house. Do you know that your Mom acted more like a parent to me than either of my parents?  When my Mom finally came to your house, I thought, '_Cool, she's worried about us, she wants us to come home_,' but no, she wanted to talk to your mom about how to make all of the kids leave."  He leaned against the wall with his head against his forearm, hiding his face. "Shit!" He pounded against the oak paneling. 

Daria was torn.  When things got loud at her house, she would retreat to her padded bedroom.  She loved the room because she didn't have to hear any of the yelling.  It was her sanctuary.  She wanted to let Trent rant by himself, but he seemed to need her to know how much he hurt about this.  "I'm sorry."  She said, not know what else to say, or how to say it.  She ached for him, but was afraid of how strongly he was expressing himself.  One of the things she loved about him was his calm.  After all, Jake was always losing his cool.  He would rave like a lunatic, about anything.  Even when she was little, he used to scream about things into the night.  It scared her then, because she was afraid that it was her fault.  Sometimes it was.  She just wanted to be alone, so that she couldn't bother anyone, or hurt anyone.  Trent was obviously hurt, and she didn't know what to do about it.

"I know. So why does Jane still write to them?  Like they care?  I'll bet those letters are sitting at the post office with a pile of bills.  You know I took the cats over to Monique before I left town, I was afraid that they'd starve.  I'll bet that there's no water or electricity.  I'll bet that the lawn looks like corn stalks.  God, how did I become responsible for all of this?  You know what I wanted to do after graduation?"  He put his clasped hands behind his neck, "I was going to go into the navy.  I had filled out all of the papers and everything."

"The navy?"  Daria's eyes grew big, it never occurred to her that he might enlist in the military; in fact it was the furthest thing from her mind.

"Yeah, I thought it would be a good way to see the world and get a skill.  My grades weren't all that great, and I didn't want to go to school, so I thought that the navy would be a good place to figure that out.  So I bring home the papers for my parents to sign, miraculously, Mom was home.  She looks at them and asks me, "But who's going to stay with Jane?"  Like that was MY problem!"

Daria was still stuck on the navy.  "You were serious?"

"Yes!  At one point in my life I thought I might do something.  I should have gone, but I think that she would have left Jane alone.  She'll do that.  Just pack up her car and go see some friend from the commune, or an art colony, or college, or some other God forsaken place she's been.  She takes that artist thing so seriously.  Like it gives her permission to do whatever she wants, without consequence.  Why not?  She's got ME sticking around."

"Wow."  Daria got up to make a cup of tea, mostly to see if he would settle down, but also because she felt his emotions rolling off of him, and she needed to be in a less oppressive environment for a moment.  She made him a cup of chamomile tea.

"When Jane wanted to go to college, I tried to persuade her to stay with me.  I had spent so much of my life taking care of her, that I couldn't imagine what my life would be without her.  She was my excuse.  I could be in a dumb band and loaf around the house, and have no ambition at all, because I had to take care of my sister.  What was my excuse once she was gone?"  He looked at Daria, hoping that she could say something to make him feel better.  

"You did a great job taking care of Jane, you still do a great job."  She rubbed his shoulders, which were tense and rigid.

"But it's not MY job!  What about me?  What about MY life?  No one ever considered Me!"  He heaved a sigh, it sounded like it could turn into tears at any moment.  

Daria thought that if he cried, that she would cry too, and she _never_ cried.  "I don't know what to tell you.  You got screwed." He nodded, so she continued.  "Parents are supposed to look after their kids, but unfortunately they are people too.  They screw up, they have problems.  Your parents suck."  Commiserating seemed to be the best thing to do.  "So what do you want Jane to do about it?"

"I just want...I don't know."  He shook his head and thought for a moment. "I want her to acknowledge that _I'm_ her parent, not them."  He jumped as though startled. "Did I just _say_ that?"  

"Hey, at least it's honest.  Maybe you need to have a discussion with Jane.  Tell her some of this stuff."  

"I don't think we agree."  He burrowed into the corner of the sofa.

"You don't need to agree, you just need to talk."  She hugged him.

"So what's it like having normal parents?" 

"I wouldn't know.  I don't think anyone has normal parents.  Let's just say that my parents were less messed up than yours, but more messed up than most.  How much do you like frozen lasagna and excuses?"  

Trent smiled, "Yeah, I guess the Brady Bunch wasn't really anyone's family role model."  

"By no means.  They were a bit crowded in that house."  

"And they had a maid."

"We had a maid.  Or rather a cleaning lady."  Daria admitted.

"We had the health department.  And the department of children and families."  Trent said ruefully.

"Don't forget the ASPCA for the cats."  She jibed.

"We had a pretty good relationship with the power company."

"See?  It wasn't all bad!"  She kissed him softly and nuzzled her face in his neck.

"It's getting better all the time."  

***

 Trent drew his pea coat around him as snow swirled in the Quad of BFAC.  He paced the lobby of Jane's dorm, debating about trying to talk with her.  He didn't even know if she was there or not.  

"Uh, Dude, you looking for someone?"  A guy sitting behind the reception counter asked.

"Yeah, my sister, Jane Lane." 

"Oh, I think she's upstairs, you want to call her on the house phone?"  He pointed to an old fashioned black telephone with no dial.

"I'll just go up."  Trent indicated the elevator bank.

"Nope, gotta call and have her come down.  Safety."  The guy indicated that Trent needed to get on the horn.

He picked up the handset and the guy at the desk made the connection.  The phone barely rang before Jane picked up.  "I'll be down in just a sec!"  Then it went dead.  Trent wasn't even sure if he wanted to talk.  Events were spiraling out of control.  He sat down to wait on the worn, naugahyde sofa.  He stoked the synthetic covering and idly wondered what a nauga would look like, if it was, in fact, an animal.  Maybe something like whatever Spam came from.   

About five minutes later Jane came out of the elevator and saw that her date hadn't arrived, her brother had.  "Oh, did we have plans?"  She asked.

"No.  I thought we should talk."  He patted a seat next to him and she sat down.

"Okay.  So what did you want to talk about?"  Jane fiddled with her bag, searching for a lipstick.

"You know.  The family."  He broached the subject waiting for her to become agitated again, but she continued to burrow in her handbag. 

"What about them?"  She applied her lipstick.

"I can't stand to see you bothering with them."  He wanted to go on, but was still finding the words.

"Well, don't watch then."  She looked over his shoulder so that she wouldn't miss Joe when he came.

"Jane, be serious.  You've got to face facts.  It has nothing to do with who we are; none of them care about us.  They don't even care about each other.  Every time I see you trying to make contact it just makes me crazy.  They don't write, they don't call; we only ever see them when they are down on their luck.  I'm tired of being a footnote in their lives, aren't you?"   He ran his hand through his hair, the melting snow making it damp and curly.

She considered what he said for a moment.  "I can't believe that."  It was a simple declarative statement.

"What do you mean?  It's true."  

"I mean that I need them to care.  I need them to love me. I am not able to believe anything else.  Trent, I know that you're the one in the family that I can count on, but I need a mom and a dad.  I need Summer and Wind and Penny.  I need my family to be involved.  I wish you could understand." 

He sighed.  "I can't understand.  None of them has ever done anything for you _or_ for me.  Look, the only person in our family that I need is you.  As far as I'm concerned the rest of them can stay gone.  Whenever you get the urge to tell them stuff, it's like I don't matter and my feelings don't matter."

"That's stupid.  You matter too, but you're here and they aren't.  I see you all the time, the only way that I can let them know is to write to them."  Jane hoped that he wouldn't say it, that he wouldn't follow it up with the truth.

"Whatever." Trent resolved not to expose her statement, which led to an awkward pause, on in which he began to understand what she was saying.  There would be no acknowledgement, at least not now.  He too needed a family, albeit a much smaller one. "Do me a favor; just keep the writing and calling and stuff to yourself.  We'll have a don't ask, don't tell policy."  He smiled wryly at her.

"That seems fair.  So if you don't know I'm doing it, then you won't dog me about it?"  She extended her hand for them to shake on it.

"Done."  He wasn't done though.  He still had resentment and anger.  

"I know you're pissed off.  I know why you're pissed off.  For what it's worth, I appreciate what you did and what you're doing."  

"But we won't ask and we won't tell.  Right?"  Trent put his hands in his pockets.

"For now.  Thanks."  She leaned over and hugged him.  Joe arrived and she waved at him.  "I've gotta go, Joe has tickets for the game.  Friend of his got them.  I love you and for what it's worth, I'm sorry."

He gave her a final pat on the back, "I know.  For what it's worth, me too.  So we'll see you for brunch on Sunday then?"  

"Yes, just don't come early."  She blew him a kiss on her way out.

****

Author's Note:  If you want to know about Trent's tenure in the tent read my story: Intense.


	21. Joyce for President

**Joyce for President**

**By Ruthless Bunny**

Antoine and Daria were packing up after another Student Council meeting.  "You know Daria, I've been thinking about running for president.  If I threw my hat into the ring, would you help me run my campaign?"  He meticulously put his materials into his shoulder case, aligning everything just so before zipping up.

Daria crammed her notepad into her backpack and shook her head.  "You know that I think you'd make a great president, but I make it a point not to take up losing causes.  Nothing personal."

"Do you think I'd lose because I'm African-American?"  There was no hurt in his voice.  They were the kind of friends who could say the absolute truth to each other.

"Well, that's part of it.  More to the point, you aren't in with the Government Geeks.  The torch is being handed to Brian, Chad's heir apparent.  The choice has been made, it is just for the 6% of the people on campus who vote in these things to make it official."  She shrugged; it was a fait accompli in her eyes.

"That's why I want to run.  I don't actually think I'll win either, but at least we can get our issues out there.  I think that if you helped that we could bridge some gaps and bring our concerns about this administration to light."  

"I think that's all good, but I can already feel my frustration.  Brian and Chad will say that your candidacy is divisive. They'll point to every single one of your ideas and suggestions as some kind of evidence of a desire for preferential treatment.  They'll hint that you got in here under affirmative action..."

"They don't even HAVE affirmative action at this school.  I didn't even check the box!" Antoine objected.

"I know that, and I'm pretty sure that THEY know that, but they'll use it against you any way.  Do you feel your blood pressure?  Do you want to feel like that for then next six weeks?"  She put her hand on his shoulder.

"No.  I guess not, but I've still got to run."  He pondered a moment.  "Too bad we aren't cartoons.  Brian could be the stupid bulldog and I could be the cool cat.  That's a debate the school could get behind."

Daria laughed, "Yeah, we could get all of our office supplies from the Acme Corporation."

"No, they suck.  Let's stick with Office Warehouse.  Let's make our list, rocket roller skates, a case of dynamite..."

"Don't forget the short fuses."  Daria stopped.  "Wait.  I've just had a thought."  She held up her finger indicating to him to hush for a moment.

"Oh?  Something good?"  He paused.

"Yeah, but it would be too stupid."  She laughed again, "Oh, but it would be WAY more cruel."

"I like cruel, especially when it comes to the Dumbass Duo.  What's your idea?" 

"Joyce."  Daria laughed again.  "My sister's cat."  

"A cat?  I wasn't serious."  

"Right, and in order to make your points, you can't BE serious.  Wait.  I think I've been unintentionally brilliant.  We run Joyce.  We use her as our mouthpiece.  No matter what Brian and Chad do, if they acknowledge us, they look foolish, if they don't, they look foolish.  There's no way we can win anyway, let's just start off with a losing attitude.  And a winning cat."  

Antoine nodded his agreement. "I was really hoping to get a black candidate on the ballot." He said with an air of disappointment.

"If it makes you feel better she's a chocolate point Siamese."  

"So she's brown?"  Antoine's eyes lighted up

"Brown is beautiful."  Daria held up her fist in a show of solidarity.

"That it is baby."  

They made arrangements to meet at the house, to make plans for the campaign, and for Antoine to meet Joyce.

***

The meeting took place around the conference room/dining table.  Antoine brought some of his friends, Quinn was asked to attend so that she could give permission.  Trent sat in one of the window seats, observing but not participating. 

Antoine arose and brought the meeting to order.  "Okay folks. Simmer down, and stop bogarting the cookies.  Now, we've been discussing the possibility of the Black Student Union running a brother or a sister for president."  The people around the table broke out into an affirmative burble.  "Right, now, let's be honest, aside from trying to make a couple of points, how many of you think that we would actually win?"  The burble got a bit noisier, but no hands went into the air.  "So we all agree, if we ran a candidate, it would be for the publicity, and not much else?"

Heads nodded.  

Quinn looked around the table.  "Uh, not to be rude, but frankly I couldn't care less about campus politics, why am I here?"

"We're coming to that.  Everyone, I'd like to introduce Quinn Morgendorffer, she's extremely important to our cause."

"I _am_?"

Daria had managed to coerce Joyce into her carrier so that she could be produced at the exact, right, dramatic moment.  She appeared from the kitchen with Joyce making a rather vociferous objection.  "MEOW!" She screamed. Probably because she thought they were going to the vet.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I'd like to introduce our proposed candidate.  She's a really cool cat and I think that she'll represent us brilliantly.  If you please."  He motioned to Daria.

Quinn had rushed up to the carrier and as Daria opened it, Joyce jumped into Quinn's arms.  Quinn soothed the cat as the burble around the table reached a deafening level.

Esther, the Vice President of the BSU was the first to respond.  "A cat?  Antoine, what have you been smoking?" She reached out to pet Joyce, who had calmed down under Quinn's ministrations.

"I know how it looks..." Joyce let out a wail of impatience, "and sounds, but think about it.  They keep running these white cats year after year.  They all look the same, and they all win the same.  If we run a cool cat, at least we make our points in a subtle way.  It's not like we're sacrificing our opportunity to win anything here."

Heads all turned to Joyce.  Joyce realized that she had an audience and began to groom her face.  

Esther spoke, "I just think that we have a lot to say and I don't think a cat is the way to say it.  We don't get taken seriously as it is, if we bring a cat into it..."

Antoine interrupted, "I know, I know, but let's face it, no matter what we say, no matter who says it, our audience isn't ready to hear it from us.  That's a fact.  Maybe we can make our point with humor.  I'll tell you this much, if I'm fighting a losing battle, I'd rather _not_ be the target of the other side's mudslinging."

Esther considered for a moment.  "I hear what you're saying, I'm not entirely sure that this is the route to go, but I will say this, at least this is a cat of color."  She said this in earnest, then she realized what she had done.  "Oh, maybe we do take ourselves too seriously." She laughed.  "You know what?  We've done the intense thing to death.  Why not try humor?  If we're going to fail anyway, let's fail with a cat.  Power to the people!"

"MEOW!"  Joyce interjected.

"And cats."  Antoine added.  "I know it's a drastic change in our strategy, but who here is willing to take a chance with me and with Joyce?"  Reluctantly all the hands went up around the table.  Antoine smiled.  "Great, I've asked Daria here to help with the campaign, and all we need now is Quinn's okay on it."

Quinn put Joyce down, expecting that she would rocket away, but Joyce chose to find a seat in the window with Trent instead.  "It's okay with me.  In fact, if you want, I can get the Tri Delts to pitch in too." She looked at the stunned faces around the table.

"The Tri Delts and the BSU?"  Felicia said. While everyone else thought it.

"Why not?"  Quinn was mystified.  To her it was about getting her cat in the spotlight, she didn't really understand the societal ramifications of it.

Felicia continued to stare at Quinn, "it's not a traditional pairing."  She didn't feel the need to explain further.

"Well, maybe it should be.  I'll talk with my sisters.  Most of us love kitties.  Besides, we need to be involved more in campus politics."  She gathered her stuff.  "I've got to go, I've got a quiz tomorrow.  Why don't you come to the house for our weekly meeting on Thursday, and introduce yourselves?"

The heads all nodded.  History of some sort was being made, but they weren't sure exactly if it was a good thing or not.  

***

Daria quietly filed the appropriate paperwork with the student council secretary.  Joyce Morgendorffer; was put on the ballot, along with Brian Blake current Junior Class president.  She couldn't wait to see Chad's face when he found out.

Antoine and Daria met to draft Joyce's position paper.  

As candidate for Student Council President, I promise to propose the following changes:

No classes between the hours of 2:00 PM and 4:00 PM that would interfere with naps. More seafood will be served in dormitory cafeterias, as it is healthy and delicious. Students of all backgrounds will be embraced for their diversity; our differences make us stronger. During construction of the parking garages on the Itchy and Scratchy lots, parking in the stadium lots will be made accessible by 24 hour shuttle service to all points on the campus, and to the Giant Supermarket at the Tinsdale Shopping Center. I propose construction of a Quiet Room in the Student Union, where students may enjoy complete silence while studying or napping in large, comfortable chairs. Conference rooms at the Multi-Cultural Center will be made available, for a small fee, to community groups desiring meeting space. Animals on campus will not be persecuted. No bandanas on dogs.  Squirrels will be left in peace. Bob XVII, the Raft mascot will be released into the wild.  Landscaping mulch will be replaced by clean white sand.  Never mind what for. Legalize it!  (catnip) 

Trent looked over their shoulders.  "Yeah...legalize it!  Good one Daria."  He chuckled as he walked back into the living room.

Antoine looked over the list.  "It doesn't have enough weight."

"It has too much weight." Daria muttered. "That diversity stuff sounds too touchy-feely."

"Yeah, but that's the backbone of the BSU, we can't leave that out."  Antoine said, "Besides the purpose of this is to slip the message in between the laughs." 

Daria blinked. "What message?  I'm just trying to yank Brian's chain."  
  


Trent saw that things were heating up.  "Hey, if you're not serious, who cares what's in there anyway?  Most people just care about parking and cats."  He sipped at a can of soda.

Antoine sighed, "I know, but we wanted to use this as a platform for our agenda, we stand for something significant."

Daria became agitated.  "You know, it doesn't matter. The point of most political campaigns is not to get people to vote, it's to get people NOT to vote.  We're trying to show those snobs that they aren't the only game in town.  Instead of putting the BSU's agenda into Joyce's mouth, we've got to show them that they are so insignificant that most students would vote for a cat."  

Antoine considered her statement.  "That is _SO _cynical." 

"Yeah, that's what it is."  Daria conceded.  

"I'm not sure that's really what we want to do here." He got up and paced.

"I guess we're in this for different reasons.  I'm nihilistic; I don't think anything matters.  You're idealistic; you think everything matters.  Unless we find some common ground, we're not going to be able to work together."

They both thought for a moment.

"Chad and Brian are idiots," Trent called from the living room. 

They smiled.  That was it.

***

Chad was livid as he discussed his position with the Tri Delt executive board.  Quinn was sitting in as Joyce's representative.  

"You know, I thought that I could count on your support for Brian's candidacy.  After all, those of us on the Greek Council need to stick together."  He tried to maintain his composure, but as he stared at the young women, each wearing a small enamel pin featuring the face of a Siamese cat, he felt his gorge rise.

"Why would you automatically assume that you would get our support?  I seem to recall that when we wanted you to move a date that conflicted with one of our activities, you weren't very interested in supporting us then." Alyssa reminded him.  

"Are you going to let some petty incident ruin decades, of good Pan Hellenic relations?"  He asked rhetorically.

"You weren't too concerned at that point.  Besides, are you suggesting that you took our support for granted simply because we are all Greek?  That's rather shallow, isn't it?"  Lisa said, reaching for a carrot from the crudité platter.  

"Shallow?"  Chad sputtered.  His implication was that the Tri Delts were the _definition_ of shallowness.  "You're the ones supporting the cat!"  

"I think we know that it's not the cat that we're supporting.  I think we know that we're not supporting you.  Or your buddy.  Speaking of which, why exactly is it you we're addressing, instead of him?"  Alyssa asked, acid dripping from her tongue.

"Uh, he had a previous engagement."  Chad lamely explained, thinking about the lacrosse dinner that Brian was enjoying.

"It's our opinion that if the candidate had a genuine interest, that he would be here in person.  As it stands, our support is with Joyce.  We're rather tired of the same old thing. Your presidency has been nothing but a rubber stamp for the will of the administration.  It's time for new blood, and a new species."  She smiled kindly.  

Quinn sat quietly, bemused by Chad's utter seriousness.  She could not believe that he would actually come down to their meeting just to complain about Joyce.  Why was he threatened?  It's a CAT!

Chad tried a different tack.  "Ladies, I know that we haven't always agreed, but I think that you know that a cat isn't going to run your student council.  I really believe that Brian is the right man for the job..."

Lisa cut him off in the middle of his conciliatory statement, which infuriated him, "It's simple.  We're supporting the cat.  Deal."  

Chad realized that he couldn't let his anger get the best of him.  "I can't say that I'm not disappointed, but if you change your mind, please call us, we'd love to have the Tri Delts on board."  He rose to leave and Alyssa walked out with him.

"Is it me or is this the first time ever that anyone from student council has come for a visit, or even specifically asked for our support?"  Lisa asked.

Carolyn thought for a moment and flipped through her records.  "It appears so."  

"I wonder what's got them so spooked?"

Later in Chad's office in the student union, he again consulted the poll.  42% of students sampled said that they planned to vote in the student council election.  Up from the usual 14% that voted.  Of those new voters, most of them planned to vote for the cat.  

***

Brian took his grievance to the weekly meeting of the student council.  As part of  'new business' he brought up his complaint.  "It seems to me that there should be some kind of rule against it.  Doesn't someone or _something_ have to actually _be_ a student to serve on the student council?"   He sat down and let Chad take it from there.

"I've thoroughly researched this," he threw down a copy of the student charter, "Brian is right."

"There's a shocker." Daria chimed in.

Chad glared at her and continued, "It's simple.  The cat can't run because the cat isn't a student."  He smiled broadly and dared anyone to defy him.  He didn't have to wait long.

Daria stood.  "I'm usually just here to take notes, but since I have information that's relevant to these proceedings I'll go ahead and make this brief.  She is, in fact, an enrolled student here at Raft."  

"Come on!" Brian protested.

"I guess Chad's research stopped when he got to the answer he wanted." Daria couldn't resist twisting the knife; "I'd like to provide you with Joyce's transcript."  She distributed copies around the table.

Chad snatched it up and he and Brian looked at it.  "Egyptian Archaeology?  What is _this_?" 

"Joyce is enrolled in one class.  She's auditing.  She'd like to feel it out a bit before she commits.  If you flip the page, you'll see that the registrar cashed the check for her student fees, the class and a parking permit.  It's all fair and square."  

"This is outrageous!"  Brian declared.

"Yes." Daria agreed.  "But it is also a fact.  Now, if you've got someone in the registrar's office who has the authority to drop Joyce out of the class and refund, in full, her tuition, I suggest you get them working on that, because until that happens, Joyce is still your opponent."  She sat down and took up her usual attitude of note taking.

Chad looked around the room.  He was defeated, but not for long. "Okay, if there's no new business, do I have a motion to adjourn?"  He pleaded with his eyes for someone to do so.

Brian obliged, "I move to adjourn."

"Second," confirmed Antoine.  

After a quick vote the meeting was adjourned so that everyone who was holding in laughter could let it out in the quad. 

***

The protest didn't stop there.  Later in the week Chad and Brian found themselves in the office of the Chancellor.

"You know Sir, they're making a mockery of the election." Brian said soberly as Chad stood by, lending weight to their convictions.

"Young man, I appreciate the position that you are in, but what would you like me to do about it?"  The Chancellor tented his fingers and waited for a reply.  "It appears that all of the documents are in order."  He eyed his intercom, praying that his secretary would buzz him with an urgent matter.

Chad stepped in.  "Sir, I believe that a stabile student government is not only beneficial to the students, but to the administration as well."  It was understood that they all worked together.

"It appears that some of your fellow students disagree with you."  The Chancellor pointed out.

"Well, what do you expect?  There are some people here who want to challenge the history of this school, and what it stands for."  Chad smiled; making sure that the Chancellor got his point. 

"I'm not so sure that a shake up in student government would be a bad thing.  It's a bit...stale around here.  A good university changes with the times.  Maybe the times are changing."  He rolled his chair over to the window to look out onto the quad.  "What do you see?"  He motioned towards the window.  

Brian looked out, "I see Raft students walking to and from class."  

"Well, that's what _you_ see. Right now this is the most important thing in your life.  You've worked to get here and if I may be so bold, you're rather smug about arriving here in style.  What _I _see are people who are only stopping here for a brief moment in their lives.  It's my job to see that what they take away from Raft isn't just a four-year sojourn into elitism.  In the past this institution has been identified with an Old Boys Club.  I think we know what I'm saying here."  The young men nodded in disbelief as the Chancellor continued.  "I'd like to think that Raft stands for something more than a wink and a handshake and a fast track to partner at some law firm."  He rolled back to his desk.

"But sir, it's a cat!" Chad pointed out.

"I'm well aware of that Son, but it's a Raft cat and it's legitimately on the ballot."  As he had planned his intercom buzzed, informing him that his next appointment had arrived.  "If we're through here..." he indicated his calendar.

"But what are we supposed to _do_?"  Appealed Brian.

"I suggest that you defeat the cat."  The Chancellor said as he motioned them to the door.

***

Daria and Mike walked back from morning practice.  They were heading to the food court before their first class.  

"I can't believe that you are running the cat.  How can you take that seriously?"  Mike asked as they passed one of Brian's campaign posters.

Daria pointed to the poster, _Don't Be a Pussy, Vote for Brian Blake, President_. "I can take it seriously because of this.  These guys think that we're a joke when we aren't running a cat against them.  I'm just trying to turn it back on them."

"Yeah, those lacrosse geeks are a bit full of themselves." Mike agreed, "So are we eating healthy, or are we going to pig out on pancakes and bacon?"

"Pancakes and bacon.  I'm in a mood to chew on some pig." 

***

Brian looked out at the crowd that had amassed on the Quad.  It was still cool; cool enough to expect to see people wearing sweaters and sweatshirts.  What he did NOT expect to see were groups of people wearing beige sweatshirts with brown arms.  In other words, every other person in the crowd was sporting the colors of a chocolate point Siamese cat.  He half expected them to meow.

Chad had thought that this would be a good idea.  To debate the cat.  "How can we lose?  The cat can't talk!"  Of course they might have been pretty far into a case of Heineken at the time, but it seemed to make sense.  

Brian looked over his notes.  Their campaign strategy brought home the point that the stability of the student government was stability for the college.  His opening remarks were all directed at making that point.  It seemed so obvious to him that this was good for Raft that he didn't really understand all of the people who seemed to want to throw away their vote on a cat.  He ran over his statement one more time as the moderator called the debate to order.

Quinn was selected to wrangle Joyce.  They brought her to the quad in her carrier, but for safe measure they had found a cat leash as well.  There was no point in taking a chance on having their candidate trying to make a break for it.  The crowd was noisy, chanting _Joyce, Joyce, Joyce_.  When she did emerge from her carrier her ears were plastered firmly against the back of her head.  Anyone who knew anything about animal body language could tell that the cat would rather be having a spa day at the vet than in the middle of this crowd of people.  

"Daria.  Joyce is really freaked out.  I think we should call this off."  Quinn said _sotto voce_ as Joyce clung to her, trying to bury her head in the nape of her neck. 

Daria stared at Joyce.  It seemed to her that Joyce was always so in control.  At home she walked around the house as though the humans in it were in her way.  Technically they were, but Daria felt that the opposable thumb thing made up for Joyce's lack of privacy.  After all, you can't get into Fancy Feast without a thumb.  A dewclaw just didn't cut it.  Daria felt sorry for the cat.  It wasn't like she _loved _the cat, but no one can bear to see an animal in distress.  She produced a cat treat and Joyce calmed down long enough to take it and crunch.

"If it gets really bad, we'll make our apologies.  I think we've proved that we can draw a large crowd."  Daria stashed the bag of treats into her sweatshirt pocket.

Quinn clucked at Joyce and the cat seemed to become more comfortable with the situation.  It came time for the opening remarks.

Chad strode up onto the dais.  He claimed the microphone, just as though he were the junior senator from Wisconsin.  "Fellow students.  I am here to introduce our first candidate, Brian Blake.  Brian is not merely my friend, not merely my fraternity brother, not merely the new Captain of the lacrosse team. Brian is also the best candidate for student council president. I could list all of Brian's accomplishments, but I won't.  For one thing we would be here for quite some time, for another, it would embarrass our esteemed opponent.  Instead I will say that Brian is the right man for the job.  He is a man who will _do_ the job.  Brian Blake is prepared to take the reigns of YOUR student government.  He's ready to assume the responsibilities of leadership.  If you are serious about Raft, Brian Blake is your man!"  He strode off to sit at the back of the stage to applause.  

Brian approached the podium.  "Thank you for that introduction.  I'm Brian Blake and I'm running for student council president.  I am here today to discuss the issues that affect our student body." He thumped the lectern for effect and it startled Joyce, who jumped in Quinn's arms.  "I understand how _amusing_ it would be to elect a cat president, but let's face it, what are you really doing?  Despite what some _people _would have you believe, student government isn't a joke!" He paused for dramatic effect. 

"Yes it is!" Screamed a heckler in the crowd.  A laugh arose.  

Brian lost his composure somewhat.  "As I said, student government isn't a joke!  We have been charged with an awesome responsibility," again he banged the lectern and Joyce began to squirm.  Quinn tried to hold onto her but the cat was attempting to flee.  "I am willing to accept this responsibility and I am prepared to do so!"  A modest amount of scattered applause wafted over the crowd before he continued. "You have a choice to make, you can decide that your education is worth something!  You can decide that it takes a MAN to lead you!  You can decide to take an active part in the responsibilities entrusted to every student, you must vote for the man that can actually fulfill these responsibilities.  Are you going to hold Raft's two hundred plus years of tradition in the highest regard or are you going to cast it into..._A LITTER BOX_!"  With this last pronouncement he snarled in contempt and pointed at Joyce.

Joyce had had enough.  The lights, the crowd, the undignified leash, when Brian screamed those words at her she became defensive.  She raised her paw in anger and hissed at him. A loud hiss that could be heard over Brian's rhetoric.  

The picture of Joyce's outstretched paw with claws extended, her mouth wide open exposing her sharp, glittering teeth and Brian's terrified reaction, was the one that made all of the wire services the next day.  

***

_"Welcome back, it's twenty minutes past the hour and as we promised, we've got the story of one of the most interesting student council elections since the sixties.  The students at Raft have a choice between a clean-cut young man and a chocolate point Siamese cat, for president of their student body. We're going live, via satellite, to the Tri Delt house in Boston to discuss the campaign with Joyce and her 'sisters' Daria and Quinn Morgendorffer." _

_"Ms. Morgendorffer, why is it that you and your sister decided to enter your cat into the presidential race?"_

"Well Katie, it just seemed that our elections have always been perfunctory.  We get a couple of people, they're similar, and one or the other of them gets elected and everything goes on as it always does.  We thought that it was time for new blood.  We're trying to make a point that sometimes you want something different.  So we nominated Joyce."  Quinn smiled, as did the Siamese sweatshirt bedecked Tri Delts and BSU members.  Daria sat next to her stroking Joyce.

_"So you're making a point then?"  The perky anchor asked.  "Daria, you are the spearhead of this campaign, what is your strategy for getting a cat elected?"_

_"Our first hurdle is that we have to give voice to everything that Joyce stands for.  Diversity, not just between people, but species, positive change on campus and shrimp for dinner whenever it's on sale."  _

_"MEOW!"  Joyce agreed._

_"She really likes shrimp."  Quinn affirmed.  _

_The anchor laughed.  "I notice that in addition to the Tri Delt sorority members that the members of the Black Student Union are also present, I understand that you've formed a coalition.  Antoine Petithomme, president of the BSU, can you tell us how this coalition has bonded together for this election?"_

_"We felt that it was important to back a candidate of color.  Raft has historically been represented by a certain majority, we have always felt that all members of the student body should be represented.  While there are many qualified humans, of all backgrounds, we thought that our points would be taken more seriously, if we took ourselves less seriously, and so we decided to back Joyce for president."  _

_"Thank you.  In the studio we have Brian Blake, the young man running against Joyce. Brian, when you found out that your opponent was a cat, how did that change the direction of your campaign?"_

_Brian faced into the camera, "Katie, I have always been confident in my ability to lead.  I believe that the students at Raft will elect the candidate best able to do the job.  I think we all know that a cat just isn't capable of doing that.  My campaign has been to present the issues and to let an informed electorate vote their conscience." He smiled presidentially._

_"Thank you.  Well, good luck to all of you.  May the best...candidate...win.  When we return, we've got your local weather."  She smiled into the camera._

"Helen!" Jake screamed.

"I'm right here.  What?"  She replied.

"Our girls are wasting time getting that damn cat elected to president?  What is this world coming to?"  He held his head in his hands.

"Jake, stop being so dramatic.  The girls are making a political point.  Remember when the Yippies ran Pigasus for president?"  She rubbed his shoulders.

"Oh yeah!" He cheered up.  "Do we have any Frosted Flakes for breakfast?"  

***

Daria, Quinn and Antoine were at their planning meeting.  

"We have nearly ten thousand dollars left in the treasury and this is the last Saturday before the election.  I say, let's go ahead and throw an Election Roundup.  We'll dress like cowboys and Joyce can wear her hat."  Quinn suggested.

Daria rolled her eyes. "Are you kidding?"  
  


"No.  People like parties. We can rent the Pavilion.  One of our former sisters is working for a beer distributor, she's agreed to help us out with kegs.  Another of our sisters is an executive for a pizza company, they've agreed to provide the food.  I've even lined up a sister who is a United States Senator to endorse Joyce."  Quinn explained.

"You mean there's a Tri Delt who is serving in the U.S. Senate?  How?"  Daria was amazed.

"I know that you think we're a bunch of bimbos, but we're not.  We go on to do great things.  Maybe it's because we were going to anyway, maybe it's because we've managed to turn something that men have used for centuries to our advantage, but I think it's a good thing and I'm putting it to use for Joyce." Quinn was emphatic.

Antoine cleared his throat, "You know, many groups decide the same thing.  We have Jewish frats and Black frats, we decided to take from the old Greek system what we could use to our benefit.  Sure, there are stereotypes for a reason," he acknowledged, "but for the most part, those of us in a frat or a sorority get out of it what we put into it."

"Okay, I apologize.  It's not for me, but I guess there's no harm in it either."  Daria conceded.  "So we're throwing a huge party.  Whee."

Two thousand people showed up and Joyce spent the entire evening trying to push the hat off of her head. 

***

The house had been converted into an election headquarters.  Assorted scraps of delivery food covered various surfaces in the living room as they waited for news from the election committee.  A reporter from a local station hung around picking at the egg rolls and waiting for the results.  The phone rang and the reporter stood up and motioned for the camera operator to start rolling.  

Daria answered, "Hello?  Oh.  That's great!  Fabulous!  Thanks."  She smiled and made the announcement.  "The results are in.  The election had the largest turn out in recent college history.  With 56% of the students voting, the margins were 52% to 47%, with one percent illegible.  Although we lost..." The buoyancy of the crowd came down somewhat, but they were still ecstatic.  "We only lost by a few percent!"

The house broke into a protracted celebration.  Daria and Antoine embraced.

"Are you disappointed that it wasn't you?" Daria asked.

"It never would have been me," he admitted. "There's no way that I could have captured the imagination of the students.  It had to be Joyce."  He smiled. "We should go into business after school, political consulting.  Think of what we could do for Jesse Jackson!"

"Or Al Sharpton," Daria quipped.

Antoine shook his head, "No, I don't think anyone could help him." He laughed.  "Seriously, thanks, I learned a lot from this experience."  

"I did too, but I'm not sure that I learned anything good.  It seems to me that the public is too easily manipulated.  We nearly got a cat elected."  She smiled a wan smile.  "It's nice to know I could if I wanted to, but what an awesome power." 

"With great power comes great responsibility."  Antoine quoted.

"That's what I'm afraid of." 

Quinn came out of the kitchen sobbing into Joyce's fur.  "We lost!  I wanted to win!"  

***

At the first meeting after the election, Daria and Antoine went over to congratulate Brian.  "You ran a good campaign, congratulations."  Antoine said extending his hand.

Brian shook it, "I'm just glad that the students realized that I was the right man for the job.  Hey, no hard feelings man"

Daria grew impatient with Brian's conciliatory tone.  "Congratulations Brian.  You beat a cat."  

***

Author's note:  Both Katie Couric and Elizabeth Dole are Tri Delts.  Go figure.


	22. Spiral De Mystico

Spiral De Mystico 

By Ruthless Bunny

Trent pulled out of the parking lot of Plymouth Rock Community College listening to the tape in the deck:  _Cafe con leche sin azucar por favor.  Coffee with milk, no sugar please._  He repeated the words, trying to roll the 'r' just like the woman in the tape.  He was doing pretty well in his Spanish class but his accent needed major work.  He was thinking about the assignment, due next week.  The class was to translate something from popular culture, something from television or a song.  Trent first thought that he would translate The Simpsons, using the SAP function on the television, but he realized that would be cheating, so he was mulling over some songs that would lend themselves to translation.  He shuddered to think about doing a Shakira song or Ricky Martin, but who else would lend themselves to translation into Spanish? 

Trent enrolled at PRCC on the sly.  It wasn't because he had a burning desire to learn Spanish, not exactly.  As he explained to Jesse, "I just want to know if I can do it.  For a long time I blew off school, I didn't have an interest.  I don't think it was because I was bad at it."

"Well, you didn't get good grades."  Jesse wasn't one to sugar coat anything; that would take valuable brain cells.

"No I didn't, but I hope that's because I didn't try to get good grades, not because I _couldn't_ get good grades.  There's a difference."

"So you're taking a class?  Which one?"

Trent scanned the catalog again, "I don't know, what do you think?"  He was deciding between Survey of English Literature or Calculus 1.  

Jesse flipped through the book.  "How about Spanish?"  

"Spanish?  Why Spanish?"  Trent reviewed the course description.

Jesse shrugged, "It's cool."

"For you maybe, you're fluent."  Trent continued to study the catalog.

"Yeah, I guess having Abuela living with us helped with that."  Jesse's grandmother from Puerto Rico lived with his family while he was young.  She insisted on speaking Spanish with her grandchildren.  Jesse studied the language formally in school, earning the grades that would allow him to graduate with the mandatory 2.0 G.P.A.  

"Why not?  At least you could help me with my homework if I got into a jam."  Trent completed his application form.  

Plymouth Rock Community College was as far away from the hallowed halls of Raft as it could possibly get.  Rather than situated in a campus of old brick buildings, PRCC was a steel and glass office building near law firms and a hospital.  Trent felt more comfortable taking classes there, than in a traditional school.  During breaks he'd hang out with other students near the vending machines.  He didn't feel like he was in school, it felt more like he got a part-time job learning Spanish.  

The class was nearly over, just this last project to complete and the final exam.  After three months, Trent had the rudiments of the language, now he had to apply them.

He arrived at the pub in time to see the guys playing quarters.  He waved at them and nodded at Kevin, who was doubling as cook for the lunch rush to put on a burger for him.

Jesse made room for him in the booth.  "So how was your class?"

"Okay I guess.  I've got a project to do and I'm trying to think of an idea."  Trent picked up the pitcher and poured himself a mug.

"What kind of project?"  Jesse took a draught of his beer, being careful not to suck down the quarters.

"I've got to translate something into Spanish."  Kevin arrived with his burger.

"How about one of your songs?"  Kevin suggested, wiping his hand on his apron.

"Our songs?"  Trent took a bite.

"Why not? You could give it a Latin beat.  Girls like that stuff."  His eyes glazed over for a minute, as though watching a dozen girls mamboing to his own private beat.

"I could help you if you want."  Jesse offered.

"Cool." Trent replied, sliding a fry into the mountain of ketchup on his plate. "So what song do you think we should do?"

"I like 'Icebox Woman' because lots of stuff rhymes with 'mujer'."  He thought about it for a moment, running through the ideas in his head.

"Are there lots of words that rhyme with futon?" Trent asked. "I wonder if we can get a rhyming dictionary in Spanish?" 

They discussed it at length for the rest of the afternoon, jotting some ideas down on a napkin.  As it turned out they didn't need the dictionary.  Between the two of them they were able to convert four Spiral songs into credible Spanish versions.  "We have enough for an EP," Jesse observed.

Trent smiled.  "I know, let's practice these tonight, we'll get Kevin to run a tape on the board, maybe we'll get something usable."  

The third set that night featured a slight twist on some old favorites.  Max and Jesse had worked out some new rhythms, and the girls, as Kevin predicted went wild dancing to the rearranged songs.  Trent shrugged, these same girls loved Karaoke Friday, so it wasn't really a banner moment. 

Trent played the tape in class the following week.  The professor smiled and nodded with the beat.  "Mr. Lane, that was exceptional.  Is it possible that I could have a copy?  I think my niece in Mexico would get a kick out of this."  

"Sure Señior Brown," Trent gave him the tape, "Let me know how she likes it."  

After that, Trent went home to have a nap before work.

_Somewhere in Mexico City..._

"Mami!  I'm home."  Mari Cruz burst through the door, tearing off the tie from her uniform as she flung her books onto the sofa in the living room.

"Aye!  Hija, don't shout.  I'm right here.  So how was school?"  Sra. Hidalgo followed her daughter to her bedroom, decorated with the typical trappings of a thirteen year-old.  Posters of singing idols hung above a stuffed animal collection.  

Mari Cruz huffed dramatically as she changed into her play clothes.  "You know!  Angelica got the best grade on the math quiz.  I got the best grade on the essay.  Oh!  And Thalia was telling us some stuff about kissing boys." She noted the concerned look on her mother's face, "but I don't think any of it was true.  Alicia was telling us about her quinceñera.  She's having a mass at her church, then the party is going to be at her father's restaurant.  It's going to be beautiful.  I think she's going to try to get her brother Carlos to be my date.  He's nice, but...you know."

Sra. Hidalgo listened to her daughter rattle on.  There was something so innocent about this age.  So curious about romance, but yet she still wanted to sleep with her stuffed dog.  "Oh, I nearly forgot, Tio sent you something." She indicated the envelope on the dressing table.  

"I wonder what it is?" The girl tore into the package.  Some candy fell out along with the tape, _Spiral De Mystico, Para Ti!_  She stuffed a miniature Snickers into her mouth before her mother could object. "Mami, who is Spiral De Mystico?"

"I don't know hija, put the tape in and let's hear."  Sra. Hidalgo kicked off her house shoes and relaxed against the wall on the bed as she and her daughter listened to the tape.  

Mari Cruz smiled and began to dance along with the music.  "This is nice!  Come on Mami, dance with me."  She extended her arms towards her mother, who, although exhausted, danced with her daughter.

By the end of the evening, Mari Cruz was able to sing along with the tape.  She had also made copies of it for her friends.  

_Back in Boston..._

Trent looked at the official grade report.  He earned an A in his Spanish class.  He smiled and contemplated his next move.  Should he take another class?  A more advanced Spanish class?  He thumbed through the catalog to see if there was something interesting in there.  

Daria came in and saw him on the sofa. "Hey, what's that?"  She asked about the catalog.  

Trent sat up.  He didn't really want her to know that he was taking classes.  She might think that he was going to become a student or something.  "Uh, nothing.  I just got a catalog from the local community college."

"I can see the catalog, what's that?"  She pointed to his grade report.

He smiled sheepishly and handed it to her.  

"You took a Spanish class?"  Daria wondered when that all happened.  

"Yeah, just a couple times a week.  I wanted to see if I could do school."  He tried to explain in the simplest way possible.  

"Wow, you got an A?  Impressive."  She handed the report back to him.  "So are you trying to see what you're taking next term?"  She sat next to him to read over his shoulder.

"Not necessarily.  I just wanted to know some Spanish.  They don't really have a wide variety of classes."  He closed the catalog.  "Hey, you know what? You should congratulate me properly." He kissed her, running his hand through her hair.  She usually stopped talking when he played with her hair.

"I like the way you change the subject Trent.  Don't worry, someday you'll tell me what this is about."  She nuzzled his neck.

"Someday I will." He admitted.  

_Back in Mexico City..._

Alicia waltzed with her father in the traditional manner, her formal, white dress bobbed in time with the accordion.  When the dance was over, he handed her to her date and the DJ put on some popular music.  _Mujer Helada_ blasted over the PA and the kids all rushed onto the floor to dance.  The adults were celebrating with rum and soft drinks; they too were tapping their toes to the catchy beat.  

Augusto De Marcos sipped his brandy and enjoyed watching the young people.  He had never heard this song before, which was unusual because as the president of the Latin American division of Condor Records, he had heard everything, usually months before it became popular.  He walked the perimeter of the dance floor, and arrived at the DJ booth.  He slipped the young man some money and at the end of the night, he too possessed a copy of _Spiral De Mystico, Para Ti! _

The next morning Mr. De Marcos played the tape for his assistants.  They tapped their toes and bobbed their heads. He knew in his bones that this band would be a huge hit, but he liked to confirm his suspicions with his staff.  He made it a point to keep a few young ladies around the office, not only to pretty the place up or to type and file for him, but so that he could have his own, private focus group.  "So?  If you had a choice between a new lipstick or a copy of this CD, which would you buy?"  He was a bit sexist, but neither Inez nor Michelle minded very much, they knew what he was driving at.

Michelle thought for a moment.  "I like this song.  I think I'd buy the CD, but I'd like to know how handsome the guys in the band were first."  

Mr. De Marcos, smiled, "_typical", _he thought.  He liked Michelle because she was completely honest.  "Thanks.  I'd like to know this myself."  He had someone trying to track down who Spiral De Mystico were, and where they could be found.  If they didn't already have a record deal, he wanted them to have one.  Very much.

Sofia Nieves dialed another number.  She had tracked the tape from the quinceñera, to Mari Cruz and now she was calling Sr. Brown in Boston.  She hoped she didn't have too much more of this, her fiancé was taking her to lunch and she didn't want to keep him waiting.  

_Back in Boston..._

Daria came home to a ringing phone.  Trent was on the sofa, blasting music, dead asleep.  Daria grabbed the receiver and the remote at the same time.  When she muted the stereo, Trent awoke with a start.  

"Hello?  I'm sorry, I don't speak Spanish..." she listened, "oh, Trent, sure, just a second." She held the phone out to him as he sat up, "it's for you, I think she said she was calling from Mexico."  

"Hello?  I'm sorry, I don't speak Spanish."  He listened carefully to the caller, "what?  ...No, that can't be right...No, that's our song all right..._How_ did you get a copy of it?  Really?..Hmmm...I see...Sure we can meet with him...Okay, next Friday then...Adios!"  He hung up the phone, apparently shocked.

"So what was that?  I couldn't even begin to decipher your end of the conversation."  Daria kicked off her shoes and headed into the kitchen for a snack.

"I think we're meeting with some record executive."  Trent scratched his head and looked at the note he had written on his hand.  He followed her into the next room. 

"You _think_?  _Was_ she calling from Mexico?" Daria opened a tub of yogurt and stirred it up, waiting for Trent to explain what was going on.

"It's weird.  I gave my teacher a tape of Mystik Spiral songs that we had translated into Spanish.  He sent it to his niece, who made copies for her friends, who had a DJ play it at some party that this record company executive attended."  He stared at his hand.

"That's an interesting chain of events.  So you're meeting with this executive..." Daria wanted him to move the story along.

"Yeah.  Next Friday. Apparently everyone who hears the tape wants to dance to our music."  He shook his head.  

Daria grabbed his hand and copied down the information onto a piece of paper.  "Hey, you'll talk to him.  What record company is it?"  She sat at the table to eat.

"Condor Records, the Latin American division."  He shook his head.  "I've got to tell the guys.  I've got to get our press kit together."  It began to hit him.  He kissed her on the top of her head.  "I'll see you later?"  

She nodded.  "Okay."  As the door closed behind him she realized what he had said. "_Latin American division_?"   

_The following week..._

Jorge Cal waited at the hotel's coffee shop for the group to turn up.  He had flown up that morning from Miami.  In the intervening week much research had been done into the origin of Spiral de Mystico AKA, Mystik Spiral.  It turns out that the band had some moderate exposure through a show on the Music Channel, _Get Real_.  The CD released had modest success, but Mystic Spiral wasn't featured, they merely had a couple of cuts, the rest was just a compilation of the background music used in the show.  Jorge bought the DVD of the House Party and was already having a guy put together an edit of Mystic Spiral's performance, it would be a quick and dirty way of releasing a video within the next couple of weeks.  

The band came in and started craning around.  Jorge stood up to greet them.  They shook hands and sat down.

"Guys, are we still waiting for your manager?  Agent?"  Jorge asked into the blank faces.

Trent shook his head. "No. Our manager had a previous appointment.  We're just here to see what you have to say."  He realized that this was serious stuff.  Daria usually did the business end of their deals; he didn't feel comfortable admitting that their manager couldn't make it because she had an assignment due in her literature class.

Jorge could see that they were still amateurs.  "It's fairly unusual for us to discuss matters of this nature without representation present..." He waited for them to catch the clue that someone had better get on a cell phone to get their representative to the meeting.  He then realized that it wasn't going to happen.  He continued. "Do you understand what we're about to discuss?"  

The band looked at each other.  It dawned on Trent that they were about to be offered a pile of money and an enormous opportunity.  "Yes, we understand.  Let's not talk about particulars right now, let's just hear what you have to say."

Jorge acquiesced and reached into his briefcase for their tape.  He slid it across the table. "Gentlemen, this tape has taken a small pocket of Mexico City by storm.  Sometimes it happens this way, one kid gets it, plays it for her friends and the next thing you know a new band is born."  He looked at the men across the table from him.  The bald one was studying him.  Too closely.  "Is there a problem?"

Max continued to stare.  "You speak English, man."  

"Right, I do." Jorge rolled his eyes; he never got this crap at home.  "It's the same language I spoke when I was educated at Georgetown.  Look, you're going to need to focus."  He was losing patience.  Nick grabbed Max and had him sit more deeply in his seat.

"Don't mind him, he's not a morning person." Nick explained.

Jorge looked at his watch, it was 2:00 PM. "Never mind.  Let me just lay this on the table for you.  My boss, Sr. De Marcos thinks that you've got a hit here.  I know that you have had limited exposure here in the states, frankly, I don't think you have a future here.  Your look and your sound is passé for the American market.  Latin America, however, is looking for their Nirvana.  Our culture is different from yours, our children do not rebel in the same way as American children do.  You have the grunge feel, without the grunge edge.  Your music is...," he searched for the word, "accessible."

Trent digested what was said. "You think we're as good as Nirvana?"

Jorge became frustrated.  "No.  And if you want to be popular in Spanish speaking countries, you can't _be_ Nirvana.  You've got to have a pop element, you have to be attractive and you have to be willing to appeal to everyone, not just males 18 to 25."  

Trent began to understand.  "Are you saying that we're going to be...the Mexican Hootie and the Blowfish?"  

Jorge smiled, "In a sense.  Of course in this case we want you to keep your edge and your identity, it's perfect."  He looked at the band.  They weren't pleased. "What you have is perfect for what we want, you wouldn't have to change a thing.  You're exactly what Latin America is waiting for."

Max shifted uncomfortably in his chair; Nick was willing him to stay quiet.  Jesse hadn't said a word, nor did it appear that he would.  They all involuntarily looked at Trent.

Trent contemplated what was said. "So what you're saying is that as we are, here in the U.S. that we're not going to make it?"

"Yes."  Jorge answered matter-of-factly.  "I'm not going to lie to you.  What you've accomplished so far is about _all_ you can accomplish here.  You aren't hard enough to be alternative; you aren't soft enough to be pop. You don't have a category here.  But in Latin America you don't need a category.  In Latin America everyone sees what they want to see in you. Americans demand that a band have a specific identity--that doesn't appeal to us.  We like music that we can dance to, we like music with pretty lyrics, we like what we like and gentlemen, right now, we like you...just as you are.  Are you going to seize this opportunity?"  He sat back and indicated to the waitress that he'd like a refill on his coffee.

"I don't know if we can be Latin singers." Trent admitted, the whole idea felt wrong to him.  It was as though they were selling out, just by being who they were.  If they took this offer, they would be a parody of themselves.  A joke.

Jorge sighed. "I'm not asking you to be Latin singers.  I think that's part of the appeal.  You're American rockers, singing in Spanish.  You have an American edge, but you're accessible to us, in our language.  Adults like you, teens like you and kids like you.  There are more Spanish speaking people in the world than English speaking people in the world." Jorge wasn't sure if it was true, but it sounded good, and plausible. "Are you allergic to money?" 

Nick sat up.  "We most assuredly are NOT allergic to money.  Guys, this is it.  It's the best offer we've had.  Nothing happened with that Christian deal.  This is happening right now.  I say, lets take it while we can.  I don't want to be a forty year-old guy in a band, sleeping with this asshole," he indicated Max, "over a bar."

Trent decided.  This was the best, and only offer, that they had.  He knew that another offer might never come.  This was their moment of truth.  Was it really selling out, if they didn't need to change?  It wasn't what he wanted, but it was likely that this was all they were going to get.  He thought about Daria, who was expecting to be the major wage earner in their relationship.  He thought about Jane, who believed that art was the highest achievement possible.  He thought about Don Hodges, his guitar teacher, who thought that playing guitar _your way_, was the greatest thing in the world. He thought about his parents, who expected him to always stay the same.  He thought about the band, how far they had come from Lawndale and still weren't close to the success that they were being offered here.  The Christian band idea fizzled.  Jesse's stint on _Get Real_ disappeared faster than a fart in a whirlwind, like everything else on Music Television.  This was it, their one and only chance.  It seemed like forever that Trent had dreamed of making this decision, it was what they had worked for and now he was more terrified than he had ever been.  It all came down to him.  All the blame or all the credit would be forever on his head.  

He sipped his water.  "Okay, where are the contracts?"  He looked as cool as a cucumber and tried not to tremble.

"Now we're _really_ criminales!"  Max cried, much to the shame of everyone else in the band. 

_Later that night..._

Quinn had faxed the contracts to her lawyers, who faxed them to an entertainment law firm for review.  Jorge had called and had asked them to prepare to get into a studio in Miami in a couple of weeks.  It was happening, fast.  Too fast.  

Daria took it all in and tried to understand.  What Trent had been dreaming of was coming true.  Where did she fit into all of it?  Daria thought about their relationship, what if he left and didn't come back?  What did she want from him?  What did he want from her?  

Trent sat on the sofa with his lyric notebook, idly translating the songs into Spanish, or more accurately, translating them into the Spanish he knew.  He could tell that Daria was bothered, but he wasn't sure by what.  "Penny for your thoughts?"  

She flopped down next to him.  "You know, I love everything the way it is right now.  I don't want you to go."  She snuggled into him, and he put his arm around her.

"I know.  That part sucks, but this is a great opportunity.  I can make a lot of money with this deal."  He kissed her cheek.

"Is it about money?  You don't need money.  I don't need money.  Why don't you just forget it?" she said petulantly.

"Easy for you to say, you don't have three other people to think about.  No matter what happens, I'll always play music, but if I can play music, _my_ music, and make money too, that would be gravy."  He looked at her; she seemed unconvinced.  "You know that I'll never be considered a success unless I have money in the bank to prove it."

"Is it so important to be successful?  Isn't it more important to be a musician?"  Daria tried to reason with him.  

"That's an interesting idea, and I'm not talking about a lot of money, just enough to set us up.  Daria, I don't always want to live off of your sister's kindness.  I don't want to be playing the pub ten years from now.  In fact there's no way I'll _be_ playing the pub ten years from now.  The only way I can justify my adult life is to have something to show for it.  A hit record, a bank account, experience playing to packed houses.  Otherwise I've just been indulging a hobby for the past five years.  Ten years if you count the time I spent learning.  This is my profession.  My job.  If I don't make money at it, then I really am what everyone thinks I am."  

"What does everyone think you are?  A great brother, a wonderful boyfriend?"  Daria challenged.

"No.  Those are good things, they're what make me a good person, but as a man I also have to provide.  Not just for myself, but for you too.  You know and I know that most people think I'm a slacker.  I don't want to be some guy getting by.  That was fine a few years ago, but I'm getting older, if I can't make it as a musician, then I'll have to put this on the back burner and get a real job.  Frankly, I don't think I can do that."  Trent held her close.

This was the first time that Trent had actually spoken about a future where he and she were together.  Daria had not projected their relationship into the future.  She didn't think about what they would be doing after graduation.  It occurred to her that there was marriage and children and jobs and houses and...life.  She loved it just the way it was right now, in this moment. But it couldn't last forever, it wasn't even going to last a fortnight.  He was right; he needed to do this.  But she wanted to be sure that he would come back, just as he was.  "Trent, I know that you want to..." she started, it felt so awkward saying it, she hoped he would understand what she was saying.

"Want to what?"  He asked; unaware that she had changed the subject.  

"Make love to me."  She finished, avoiding his gaze.

He was taken aback.  Where did _that_ come from? "Well yes, but what does that have to do with what we're talking about?"

"It does in a way.  If you're going away, you won't be around."  She said, picking at the pills on the throw blanket.

"You just stated the obvious," he observed.

Daria slapped the pillow cushion in frustration.  "You'll be around other..._people_.  You'll be exposed to new and exciting things..." She didn't finish her thought.

"Daria, do you think that I'll stop loving you, just because we're not together?  Do you think that if I were that kind of guy that something would change if we slept together?"  He shook his head.  He forgot how screwed up she was about love and sex.  

"Yes."  She admitted.  

"God, you can be so stupid sometimes!"  He stood up, angry at her insinuations.  "Haven't I been here all along?  Don't I support you?  Don't you trust me?"  He sat again, seeing that he had scared her.

"I trust you...I think.  Trent, what is it that you love about me?  Why is it me that you want to be with?"  She never really knew what it was that they had together; she never understood that she had a value, above her intellect, and she didn't think that he loved her for that.

Trent pulled his hair in aggravation. "After all this time you still don't know?  I love you because you know who you are.  I love you because you are willing to learn new things.  I love you because you take risks.  I love you because you're smart and funny and beautiful.  Do you need me to write it down for you?"   He paced the living room.

"You love me because I'm smart?"  She was puzzled, she didn't think he could appreciate that about her.

"Yes! I know that you don't think that _I'm_ smart, but I am."  He had gone into uncharted territory, a place even he didn't dare travel.  "Daria, I'm smart, I took that Spanish class and it was easy for me to get that A, really easy.  I never did anything in school, not because I couldn't, I just didn't want to.  In my family to getting good grades didn't matter.  I thought that if I concentrated on academics that I wouldn't fit in with the rest of them, so I didn't try.  Daria, I skipped class regularly and I still passed my classes.  Stupid people can't do that.  I can't stand being around stupid people.  When I met you I was happy that Jane had found a friend that could challenge her.  I was happy when you were around because I could talk to you about stuff.  I know you think that I'm slow, but I'm not."  

Daria sat stunned.  She did not think that Trent was stupid, but she didn't think that he could appreciate her intelligence on her level.  She didn't know him.  It frightened her. "I'm sorry, I never really thought about it."  

"I know." He sat next to her and held her close. "I didn't _want_ you see that part of me.  I wasn't ready for you to know about it.  But now you do.  Now you can understand why you are so important to me.  I would never do anything that would hurt you."  He stroked her hair as they sat in silence.  

Daria's thoughts were whirling.  _He likes me because I'm smart.  He's worried about me keeping up with him.  He's so much more than I thought he was._  She realized that she had only scratched his surface.   She reached up to him and pulled his face down to hers.  She kissed him deeply, trying to suck his essence from him, trying to learn about him, not by observing, not by listening but by _feeling_ him.  

_Two Weeks Later...._

Daria stood in the driveway as the airport limousine threw his bag into the cargo hold of the van.  He hugged her close, for the last time for a while.  They kissed and slowly he let her go.  He climbed in next to Max and the door slid shut.  She could see his face, staring at her as they drove down to the end of the street, towards the airport.  

_I may never see him again_, she thought, _just when I really got to know hi_m.  "Damn, I didn't tell him that I loved him."  


	23. Power Play

**Power Play**

**By Ruthless Bunny **

In Boston 

Daria wandered around the house.  Joyce followed her from room to room.  When Trent left, Daria had made a big deal of doing some "spring cleaning."  Each room was set to rights.  Quinn's stuff was organized and neatly put away in her dresser and closet.  Her antique rice post bed was made up with dusty pink linens, the canopy waved in the soft spring breeze wafting through the window.  

Trent's room was empty of anything that he might have used to claim it.  Only his bookcase stereo and stray CD jewel cases were evidence of his residence in the house.  

"He always did travel light," Daria said to Joyce as she scanned the vacated space.  The bed was neatly made with black linens recently brushed free of cat hair.  A black and white framed Ansel Adams picture hung over the bed.  The black dresser was wiped clean, only a bottle of seldom-used cologne bespoke that there was a permanent occupant of this room.  

"Meow!" Joyce responded; she missed Trent in her own way.  She flicked her tail, impatiently waiting for Daria to move to the next room.   Daria opened the window, getting a nice current going between the two rooms.  

When she got to her room, only a pile of freshly folded laundry signified that this room was currently occupied.  Daria opened a drawer and placed the items neatly into it.  When she closed the dresser she realized that her entire day was doing nothing but creating order out of chaos.  "This is sick.  I need to do something, see someone, get out for a bit."  

"Meow!" agreed Joyce, it was time for a nap and she hadn't had the house to herself in two days.

Daria shouldered her pack and grabbed the keys to The Tank. Technically it was Tank.02, purchased with the proceeds of Mystik Spiral's first CD.  Actually it was a compilation CD from _Get Real,_ but they made enough to buy the late model van outright.  Daria pulled out of the driveway and up to the stop sign at the end of the street before realizing that she had no idea where she was going.

**In Miami**

Trent played the last note of the guitar track and waited for the guys in the booth to tell him to cut.  The reverb echoed through the studio, yet he didn't get the signal to stop.  Finally he let the note die down.  A second later the engineer gave him the thumbs up and Trent put his guitar in the stand and took a slug of Mountain Dew.  

"Good one.  It's a keeper."  Tito, the producer said.  Trent nodded and went into what the band referred to as 'the holding pen.'  Jesse was speaking with one of the girls who seemed to hang around the studio.  They all had jobs, supposedly.  As near as Trent could tell these jobs consisted of bringing beverages to anyone who was thirsty and to maintaining their studied but casual take on the South Beach fashion statement.  

"Good one Trent." Jesse agreed; then he said something in Spanish to Imelda who giggled appreciatively, flipped her hair at him and walked slowly off, the tightness of her pants accentuating her assets as she sashayed out of the room.

"I'd just like to lay down the vocals already.  This is taking forever."  Trent plopped down on the red, lip shaped sofa.  "I hate that we stay in this glass box for twelve hours a day, playing the same chords over and over and over.  I'm so bored."  He looked around to see if there was some hope that they might be able to call it quits for the day.

Tito poked his head into the room, "Okay Jesse go ahead and set up, we're doing your track for _'Sonrisa'_ next. 

Jesse nodded and hoisted himself up off the sofa.  "Trent, when Imelda gets back, have her bring me a _tamarindo _okay?"

"Yeah, man, whatever your heart desires."  Trent pulled out a well-worn copy of 'Time Enough for Love', borrowed from Daria's bookcase, and settled in for another two hours of waiting.

In Boston 

Melissa sat in the front seat of The Tank, putting her feet up on the airbag.  "Nice ride you've got here," she said appreciatively.

"Yeah, it's sort of like driving a bus, but it comes in handy when I go to the warehouse store.  So what are you in the mood for?"  

Melissa thought for a moment, "Burger.  How about the pub?  They have two for one from three until five on Saturdays."

"Fine, I just had to get out of the house.  I was okay at first, I'm usually there alone anyway, but once the weekend rolled around I really missed having someone around."  Daria concentrated on maneuvering through the old, cobblestone streets.  She found an empty space about a block from the pub and began the laborious process of parallel parking using her side mirrors.

Melissa hung her head out of the passenger side window and assisted,  "You're looking good on this side; you're a mile away from that Chevy.  So, missing Trent?"  

Daria explained as they walked up the street, "Yeah, but not just the boyfriend part of it, I actually miss having him around the house.  It's weird, we're almost never together in the house, with our schedules and all, but I miss knowing that he was the one who left the dish in the sink, or that he's the one who left the damp towel draped over the bathtub.  All the crap that bugs me is also the crap that I miss.  Does that sound weird?"

They walked towards a booth in the back.  "Yes, and no.  I understand.  When I first moved into the RA's room, without a roommate, it seemed creepy that I was alone, but then I got used to it.  You getting a regular burger or a chiliburger?  Is the chili good here?"  Melissa consulted the specials board.

"The chiliburger is good, especially with cheese, but it's massive."  Daria decided on a regular cheeseburger with chili fries.

"Massive?  Well, I can just eat until I'm full, no law says I have to clean my plate."   

 "Hey Daria!"  Kevin came over to their table wearing a Corona Cinco De Mayo T-shirt.  "I'm taking your order!"  He stood ready with a pad and pencil.  

"Great.  Kevin, this is Melissa, Melissa, this is Kevin."  Daria introduced them.  It was easier than explaining.

"Didn't I see you at the _Get Real_ party?"  Melissa asked.

"Yeah!  You remember me?"  

"Hard to miss the guy who nearly knocked me out with a mike stand."  Melissa smiled at him; she was the forgiving sort.

Kevin tried to remember, but found that that part of his brain wasn't working.  "Uh...sorry!  Things got a bit hairy there for a minute!."

"True.  So you work here?"  Melissa studied the menu, although she already knew what she wanted.

"Yeah! I do a lot around here.  I do bar backing at night, I wait tables during the day and I run Karaoke Fridays now!  Hey Daria, when is Mystik Spiral coming back?"  He furrowed his brow.

"Kevin, I'm not sure that they _are_ coming back." When she saw that he was alarmed she amended her statement, "I mean here.  They're making a CD in Miami.  I don't think that they're planning to play here at the pub when they're done with that."  She spoke to him as though he were a child.

"Oh.  Yeah, I kind of knew that.  They left some of their stuff upstairs, but it did seem like it was stuff they didn't want.  I'm alone there now." He seemed sad about it.

"Isn't the new band staying up there?  I thought it came with the gig -- oh, I'll have the cheeseburger, American, rare and chili fries."  Daria got her order in while she could.

He slowly wrote her order down.  "Okay, got it.  Naw, the new band is a bunch of brothers, they still live at home.  It's all mine!"

Melissa looked at him closely, there was something appealing in his vacant look, something innocent about him.  "Kevin, I think I'll have the chiliburger.  With onions."  She smiled at him broadly.

Kevin smiled back.  "Onions?  Grilled or raw?"  He wrote carefully.

"Surprise me."  She flashed him a dazzling smile. "Oh and we'll share a pitcher of coke."

He nodded and went to put their order in.  Daria looked at Melissa.  "Are you flirting with him?"

"Sure.  He's cute."  She rolled the paper of her straw up and watched him lean into the order window to tell the cook to grill her onions.

Daria looked at him. "He is?"  She squinted and still couldn't see it.  

"Yeah.  Nice face.  Pretty eyes. Tight butt.  Plus, he's nice."  Melissa watched him meticulously wipe down the bar with linseed oil.

"Nice?  Where I come from we call that dumb.  Dumb as a bag of hammers to be precise."  

Kevin felt the gaze of the two young women on him, so he waved at them.  Melissa waved back.

"I'll bet that he's got something going for him.  You just haven't discovered it yet."  Melissa sipped her coke.

"Boy are you optimistic. He's harmless, I'll grant you that, but really, what would you guys talk about?"  Daria swirled her straw in her glass.

"I don't know.  If he loves the Lord, we might have that in common.  He might like kids.  I'd have to get to know him before I could decide if he was someone I'd seriously consider as a boyfriend, but so far, he's still in contention."  Melissa toyed with a peanut from the bucket on the table. 

"I know him pretty well, and I don't think that you'd stay entertained for very long.  His last girlfriend was a...cheerleader."  Daria said it with a sneer.

"Daria, I was a cheerleader in high school.  Don't be so judgmental.  I mean, if I looked at Trent, and didn't know him, I'd say that the two of you were an unlikely couple.  I'm going to ask Kevin out."  She beckoned him over.

"Your food will be ready in a minute.  Did you need more soda?"  He asked.

Melissa looked up at him from the booth. "No, I think we're fine for now.  I wanted to ask you something."

"Oh?"  He tried to imagine what it might be.

"My church is having a young singles night on Wednesday.  It's no big thing, just a bunch of people our age getting together, would you like to be my date?"  Melissa asked him as though she didn't care if he agreed or not.

"I usually work on Wednesday, but I could trade with Tony.  Sure.  Where do I pick you up?"  He took his note pad out and wrote down her information. He heard the _ding _of the pick up bell and went to get their order.  He glanced back over his shoulder as he went, nearly knocking over a cardboard cutout of a bikini-clad woman holding a frosty cold bottle of Zima.

"I can't believe you did that.  I can't believe he said yes."  Daria shook her head.

"You don't get what you don't ask for."  Melissa said, "Besides, if we don't hit it off, he might meet someone else at the party.  Did _you_ want to come?  It will get you out of the house."

"Nope, three's a crowd.  Besides, I need that quality time with Joyce.  She's so pissy when I'm not there to brush her."  Daria rolled her eyes; a cat dictated her social life.  "That sounds much worse than it actually is."  

"I don't know how that could be.  The offer stands, just let me know."  Kevin approached with their meals, "Oh wow, that looks awesome!" 

The Next Morning 

Mike was at the rink first for a change.  Since the season was over, the rink had been opened up to pee wee hockey.  Before the Zamboni resurfaced the ice, it had been a chipped up mess.  Mike watched it, waiting for it to set up before he skated on it.

Daria peered over his shoulder, "Waiting for Godot?"  

"Nope, give it a couple more minutes, it'll be smooth as glass.  Scrimmage?" he asked.

Daria thought about it.  "Later, right now I just need to skate fast.  I'm so..."  she tried to unkink her shoulders, "edgy."  

Mike rubbed her neck for her, "relax, no wonder you ache, you're tight."  He massaged her muscles.

"That feels great.  You want a part-time job?"  She joked.

"Can't, rules. Of course I will work for food," he hinted.

"You want me to cook for you?"

"Yeah, your carbonara sauce is amazing.  Besides, I'd love to see the game on satellite."  He used his knuckles up and down her spine.

"That would be more effective without the protective pads," she informed him.

"Yeah, technically it's a preview.  So you cook me dinner, let me see the game and then I'll give you a massage.  Do we have a deal?"  Mike knuckled her at the base of her neck.

"Why does it seem like I'm getting the bum end of the deal?"  Daria asked suspiciously.

"You're not, you're getting a massage," he smiled, very few women could refuse a massage, "how about I throw in a foot rub?  You know, to sweeten the deal."

"A foot rub and dessert, fine.  Seven then?"  Daria toed at the ice to see if it had hardened.

"Quit that, you'll make it look like figure skaters have been messing it up.  Give it another couple of minutes.  You've got to learn to have patience, to wait for the perfect moment," he said with a look on his face that made Daria wonder if he was still talking about the ice. 

In Miami 

Another hot, humid day dawned.  Trent walked out onto the balcony of his room at The Doral Resort.  Yet more badly dressed tourists were heading out in carts to tackle the Blue Monster, or whatever the heck they called the course.  When he was told that they would be recording in Miami, he had a vision of South Beach, hot spots, surf and Mojitos.  Somehow a standard room at a golf resort wasn't exactly what he had in mind.  He looked into the room, Jesse was asleep, face down on his bed.  They had been at the studio until midnight.  Trent entertained the idea that he might take a swim before the complimentary breakfast.  Then the phone rang.

He answered it as Jesse struggled to life.  "Yes...no, Tito said we were due in at ten.  Yeah, I guess, give us a couple of minutes to clean up." He hung up the phone, "Jess, wake up, Tito blew it, they want us in the studio in thirty minutes."  Trent pulled on a clean shirt over his wet hair.  He tossed Jesse some jeans and a T-shirt.  

"Dude, get us some coffee or something, I don't think I can open my eyes."  Jesse struggled to shake the exhaustion from his head.  

"We'll stop at Starbucks on the way over."  He pounded on the wall, they pounded back,  "At least they're up."  Trent sat down and waited for Jesse to finish brushing his teeth.  "Is this what you'd thought it would be?"

Jesse pulled on some webbed sandals.  "Making the record?"

"No, the whole success thing.  I mean, when we made that album in vinyl, that only took us a couple of hours.  We've been here for days, we spend all kinds of time in the studio and we still don't have what we need.  I thought it would be more fun than this."  Trent sighed and grabbed a pop tart from the box on the bed table.  "I thought for sure I'd be eating better than this."

"We're nearly done, then we go on tour."  Jesse said, trying to encourage Trent.  He received a sour look for his trouble.

"Tour.  Great, a whole bunch of cities in Mexico.  I don't even speak the language.  I don't even want to go.  I want to go home and hang out with Daria.  No offence, but I hate sleeping in this room with you."

Jesse smiled, "It could be worse, you could be sharing with Max.  He snores."

Trent was disgusted, "If this is success, why don't I feel successful?  Dude, we're not playing any more.  This is work."  He gave Jesse a meaningful look.  "I think we need to bail out of this."

Jesse ran his fingers through his hair. "Look, it sucks right now, maybe it'll get better.  We've got money coming in and they're playing our record on the radio." He shrugged, "So for just a little bit, we sacrifice."

"What if we end up like one of those bands, you know, we owe the promoter money at the end of it all?  What if we're doing this all for nothing?"  Trent got up to get a soda out of the mini bar.

"I thought you had a good lawyer look over the contract."  Jesse reminded him as he opened the door to the room.  Max and Nick were in the hall, about to walk down the flight of stairs.

Trent nodded, "Yeah, I guess we're covered.  It still sucks."

They piled into the rental car to drive the two blocks back to the studio.  Trent couldn't help but feel like one of those contortionist clowns; their car was so small.   So much for show biz.

In Boston 

"So let me get this straight, you guys had a good time?"  Daria reached into the bag of pretzels as she listened to her friend.

Melissa nodded. "He's really nice.  He liked the people at church, he seemed to enjoy the activity and he's a good kisser."  She smiled.

Daria squirmed, "Oh, EW!  I SO didn't need to know that."  

"Grow up, it was just kissing.  Pass those to me."  She reached for the bag.

Daria fiddled with the remote, trying to find something worth watching.  "I don't know, does any of this look good to you?"

"Is there a girly movie on? THAT!"  Melissa said with her mouth full as Cameron Diaz cavorted with some girls on the screen.

"So you and Kevin hit it off?"  Daria asked, rekindling the topic.

"Yes.  We're going to the movies on Saturday, want to come with?"  

Daria wrinkled her nose, "On a date with you and Kevin?  No.  Besides, Mike's coming over to watch the game.  I'm making Chutney Shrimp."  

"Mike comes over a lot.  What's up with that?"  Melissa thrust the bag of pretzels away from her, so as not to be further tempted.

"Nothing, he eats, we watch hockey.  What makes you ask?"  Daria put a bag clip on the snacks.

"If all he was interested in was the game, he would watch it in a bar with other guys.  Daria, he's making a move."  

"Mike?  But he knows I'm with Trent.  Besides..." Daria realized that she didn't have a 'besides.'

"I think Mike likes you and I think he's spending time with you because he wants you to be his girlfriend."  Melissa stroked a purring Joyce.

"But I'm with Trent.  Mike knows that.  He likes Trent."  Daria said.

"Trent's not here, Mike might think that this is the best opportunity he's going to have.  I'm not judging you, do what you want, but you should at least have your antenna up.  I think that Mike wants more out of you than a meal and a game."

"Well..." Daria wrestled with telling Melissa about the massages, "you might be right." She chewed her lip, "at least the play offs will be over soon."

"And Trent will be home?"  

Daria shook her head, "Nope, not for a couple of months.  Tour."

"Bummer.  You got any ice cream?  Salty always makes me crave sweet."  Melissa got up to investigate in the kitchen.

"Look in the freezer, I think there's some Rocky Road."  Daria considered that, _ain't that the truth._

Saturday Night 

Mike was holding a small bouquet comprised primarily of daisies and carnations, flowers, but not scary ones.  "I got these from a guy on the corner."

Daria took them, eyeing him warily.  "Thanks.  I'll put them in a bottle.  You want something to drink?"  

He held up a six-pack of Sam Adams.  "I'm covered, you want one?"

"No.  I'm driving, so I'll stick to soda."  Daria said from the kitchen.

"Can I crash here tonight?"  Mike asked as he cracked one.  "You wouldn't want me on the roads, now would you?"

Daria looked at him.  He didn't seem any different from her hockey buddy, but there was a nagging doubt in the back of her mind.  "Uh.  Okay.  In Trent's room."  

"Great!  So when's dinner?  I'm starved."  He propped his sock clad feet on the coffee table.  

"Give me a few minutes."  Daria went to the kitchen and did the math as she tossed the salad.  It seemed innocent enough, he wanted to drink and there was plenty of room in the house for visitors...but she was alone...Trent was in Miami...she needed to talk to Trent.  She peered around the corner and saw Mike eating the nan bread and sipping his beer.  She dialed Trent's phone.  Unfortunately all she got was voice mail.  She was on her own.

In Miami 

Trent realized that he had forgotten to charge his battery.  "Damn.  I wanted to talk to Daria.  Damn."   He grabbed a soda from the fridge and returned to watch Max work with the bongo player.  "Damn."

In Boston 

Mike shifted his position on the sofa.  "This thing is too comfortable."  

"That's not really a complaint."  Daria observed.  She moved to take the cake plates into the kitchen.

"No, I really don't have anything to complain about."  He waited for the sound of running water to stop.  "I have something to tell you."

"Oh?"  Daria returned with a cup of coffee.  

"Yeah," he muted the sound and coughed to clear his throat.  "I've been contacted by an agent.  He thinks that I can get picked up late in the second round or early in the third round."

"Huh?"  Daria thought he was speaking jibberish.

"The NHL, the pros, hockey for real."  Mike elaborated. 

"I'm confused.  Don't you have to be really good to be drafted?"  She sipped and waited, it seemed like a good strategy.

Mike shook his head, "You have no idea do you? I AM really good.  You must not pay any attention to hockey at all, aside from trying to play it.  We made it to the final eight.  I've been on the starting line since I was a freshman.  I could have gone to the IHL right out of high school, but my folks were so impressed with Raft that I agreed to come here instead. But I'm eligible now and I'm ready.  I mean; we're talking about millions of dollars."  He waited for her to get it.

Daria sipped her coffee.  "That's great." 

Mike smiled, "I was looking for a bit more of Tony the Tiger.  You know...THAT'S GRRRREAT!"

"I don't think I have any Tony the Tiger.  But if that's what you want, then I'm happy for you."  She was relieved that that it was hockey on his mind, and not something else. 

"So what's the problem?  Gonna miss me?"  He grinned at her.

"Well yes.  Who's going to coach me?  Who can I talk to when Jane and Joe forget that they're in public on dates?  Who's going to hook me up with gear from his little brothers?  I mean, even if you aren't my friend, you're my supply line."  She smiled at her joke.

"Come on Daria, is that all?"  He took the coffee out of her hands and clasped them in his large fists.  "I think you know where this is leading."  

"I _do_?"  Daria's eyes widened, she _did_ know, but she just didn't believe it.  

"Daria, come on, I've been liking you since I first met you.  You're the first smart chick that's ever met me half way.  Most girls just want to know me because I do hockey, but you're different.  You're smart, but you aren't stuck up about it.  You understand me.  We would make a great team.  At least think about it."

"But I'm with Trent.  He's my boyfriend."  Daria said by way of explanation, there was no point in getting into the rest of it.

"See, that's what I mean.  Trent isn't a brain either, but you can see him for who he is."  Mike got up to pace, "I know that you guys have been together for a while, but things change.  He's away, and I'm here.  How do you know that he's not living it up down in Miami?"

"Mike, you know Trent, he thinks living it up is getting two toppings on the pizza.  Trent is honest, if he didn't want to be with me anymore, he'd tell me so."  It was something she thought about frequently, "Look, he may not be here, but he's here for me in spirit.  If I needed him, he'd come running, and I'd do the same for him." It occurred to Daria that she wasn't just explaining something to Mike; she was also understanding something about her relationship with Trent.  "What Trent and I have is more than just a romantic relationship.  We're friends.  We've been friends for years.  Even if it doesn't work out between us as a couple, Trent will always be in my life.  Mike, I really like you, you've been a great friend, but right now I can't see you as my boyfriend."  

Mike rubbed the back of his neck.  "You know Daria, I'm serious about you.  I think that we could be the kind of couple that gets married."  

"Oh.  That's really strange because I've never envisioned myself as a married person."  Daria mulled it over abstractly, since it could only ever be an abstract concept to her.

"Don't you want to get married?  Even if it's not to me, don't you think about having a husband and a family?"  Mike asked.

"I don't think about it.  Right now I go to school.  That's what I think about."  Daria explained.

"So you don't think about you and Trent getting married?"  Mike pressed; he thought he could feel something give.

"I'm nowhere near thinking about marriage.  Frankly, it's as much as I can do to have a boyfriend."  Daria realized that she had never really had a boyfriend that didn't fall out of the sky and into her lap.  She looked at Mike and wondered if, in another time and place, they wouldn't have made a good couple.

Mike saw the hesitation in her eyes.  "Well, I suppose it's a bit early for either of us to think about marriage.  Daria, right now, you're my favorite woman.  I'd want to hang out with you, even if you weren't repressing a secret crush on me." He smiled charmingly.

"Repressing a _what_?!?"

He waved away her skepticism, "Look, you probably feel ambushed.  Here's what we'll do.  How about you and I just agree to spend time together as friends?  Since I have a deeper interest, I'll just try to be around here more often.  We can go out on dates if you like."

"No.  I'm with Trent.  I can't date you when I'm with Trent."  Daria said firmly; but she was afraid that if she didn't play along to some extent that Mike would leave and never come back, and she liked him too much...as a friend...to risk it.  "We can be friends, and since I have more free time lately, we can certainly arrange to see each other more often than usual, but that's it.  We're friends."    
  
Mike stood up. "I promise, I won't lay a hand on you."  He held up three fingers in the Boy Scout salute.  

Daria extended her hand, "So we're friends, still?  Nothing more?"  

Mike shook her hand, "Friends still and I make no promises about the future."  

Daria shook his hand, and wondered what she had gotten herself into.

In Miami 

Trent got back to the hotel and got on the phone.  It was well past midnight, but he needed to hear her voice.

"Hmmmm?"  Daria knew it was Trent, so she didn't feel like she needed to make an effort.

"Sorry to wake you, I just wanted to check in."  Trent heard Jesse in the shower, he was good for at least fifteen minutes.  "It's been brutal."

"Right, the rigors of rock stardom."  Daria yawned.  

"You have no idea.  Is it possible to die of boredom?"  Trent asked, "Daria, would you be disappointed if I packed it in and came home?"  His voice was weary.

"It's your career, but I will remind you that this is the big break that you and Mystik Spiral have been waiting for."  Daria held her breath, she wanted him back, there would be other opportunities, but she couldn't make the decision for him.

Trent sighed.  "You're right.  It's not just me, it about all of us.  I was just being selfish.  I just miss you and the house, and having time to myself.  Now I understand why Ozzie Osbourne bit the heads off things."  

"Trent, Ozzie Osbourne was as high as a kite when he bit the heads off things.  You're not high; you're just bored and lonely.  It'll pass."  Daria counseled, sometimes they took turns being the grown up.

"Daria, I really miss you, can you come down next weekend?  I need something to look forward to.  We're performing on a television show here.  You can watch."  Trent tried to be as persuasive as possible.

"Come down for the weekend?  To Miami?"  

"Daria, they have six flights a day out of Boston.  I had plenty of time to check.  I can book you a flight when we hang up.  Please?"  

"Sure.  I've never been to Miami.  So what show are you taping, _Good Morning Florida_?"  

"No.  We're not quite ready for any of the Good Morning shows.  We're doing something called Sabado Gigante."  He tried to put the Spanish flair into the pronunciation.

"Giant Saturday?  What the hell is that?"  

"Jesse tells me that it's a mixture of game show, talent show, variety show, talk show and commercials.  All in one.  And it's in Spanish.  Should be fun."

 "Right, it sounds like fun.  So what should I wear?"  Daria was fairly sure that she did not have an outfit for the occasion.

Trent tried to think about what Imelda and Sophia and the other girls wore, "I don't suppose you have a pair of hip-huggers that show the crack of your ass, and a top that ties under your boobs?"

"You would be correct, I don't."

"I don't suppose you could obtain such an outfit?"  Trent laughed.

"Are you out of your mind?  Of course not! Seriously, what do people wear down there?"  She waited for his real answer.  "Shit.  I'll figure something out."

Jesse came out of the shower and indicated that he was about to blow his hair dry.  "I'll let you go, it's late and we both need some sleep.  Good night honey.  Love you."  

Daria looked at the phone, she hadn't got to the point where she felt comfortable saying it causally, "Me too.  Take care."  She hung up and smiled.  Next weekend she would be with Trent.  

The next morning in Boston 

Daria stumbled downstairs, with Joyce complaining to her the entire way down.  "So what's for breakfast?  Fish or chicken?"  She held up the bags, but Joyce just wrapped herself around Daria's ankles. "Fish it is."  She set the cat up and went to make coffee.

Mike came through the back door with a bag.  "I brought breakfast."

"Fish or chicken?"  Daria asked.

"Neither, I've got a coffee roll and a bear claw, but I'll let you pick."  

"Bear claw.  You want coffee?"  She held her cup under the stream, too desperate to wait for the whole pot to brew.

"I can wait.  So what are we doing today?"  He unfolded the Sunday paper and proceeded to read the entertainment section.

"Huh?"  Daria was still half asleep.

"You know, I'm hanging around more.  Oh, we could watch rowing this afternoon."  He pointed to a picture.

"Uh, you didn't mean that you were moving in did you?  I'm pretty sure I didn't agree to that."  

He reached down to pet Joyce.  "No, but I figured that as long as I was here we might as well do something."

"I don't know." She needed to set a boundary. "Trent called last night.  I'm going to Miami next week to see him."  

"Cool, tell him I said hi.  How about a movie?"  Mike held up an ad.  "You like stuff where things blow up, right?"  

Daria realized that she did not have the situation as under control as she thought she did.  "I'm giving in today because I do want to see that movie, and because I like pastries, but bear in mind, we are friends, no more."  

Mike gave her the thumbs up, "Daria, if you give me an opening, I'm going to take a shot.  That's how I am.  Besides, you like it and you like me.  So get dressed and take that look off your face.  We can get some skating in before the show."  

"Mike, don't get used to this, when Trent gets back..."

"I'll worry about that when it happens.  Come on, the Pee Wee's get the ice at eleven." 

"But next week I'm going to Miami."  Daria reiterated.

"I heard you the first time."  Mike acknowledged, "I'm just saying, as a friend, hurry up."

Daria started up the stairs, "I'll be down in a few minutes, don't be so impatient."

"Impatient?  Two years in, and she thinks I'm impatient," he said to Joyce as he read the sports page.  "It's all about timing."  


	24. Giant Saturday

Giant Saturday

Ruthless Bunny

"Face it Daria, you need to shop."  Quinn sorted through Daria's closet trying to help her find something to pack.

"I was afraid you would say that.  Don't you have anything that I can borrow?"  

"Sure, but most of my stuff isn't going to look right on you, we're built differently.  Besides, don't you want to have pretty new things to wear with Trent?"  Quinn scratched behind Joyce's ears and sat on the bed.  "I have some T-shirts and a couple of skirts, and those should be fine for the day, but you'll want something special for the taping, or if you go to dinner somewhere or out to a club."  Quinn picked a few things out and placed them on the bed.

"A club?"  Daria shook her head.  "I don't think that we'll be at a club."

"You and Trent may not _want_ to do that, but remember, he's an entertainer now, he's going to be on international television, it's entirely possible that there is a social obligation that goes with it.  You need a dress."  Quinn scanned her sister from the neck down, "and shoes.  And no, you can't borrow my shoes, they won't fit."

"Fine, do you have time to help me?  I have no idea what or where and frankly this is not my idea of a good time."  Daria took the few things that Quinn had selected and moved them to her room.  

"Sure, I already have some ideas."  Quinn smiled, it was fun shopping for someone else.

Instead of going to the mall, Quinn picked a street full of trendy shops near campus.  It was a cool spring day but the windows showed summer sportswear.  Quinn found the shop she wanted and dragged Daria in.  Daria picked through a few things and tried to figure out what she wanted, what would be comfortable and how it would go together.  

Quinn started in the back of the store, where the dresses were.  "Daria, come look at this."  Quinn held up a black dress.  "What do you think?"

"For me?"  Daria touched the sheer fabric.  "My underwear isn't that flimsy."

"That's next.  We're doing this stuff first.  Try this one, although I'd like to see you in something with color in it.  This pink would certainly be a change for you; it would brighten your whole completion.  Quinn grabbed a few more things and they headed back to the fitting rooms.

Daria shed her usual jeans and sweater and tried the first dress.  The black dress had some stretch in it, so it was comfortable, Daria's first criteria for clothing.  Quinn opened the door,  "That's nice on you.  It shows off your figure.  You sort of look like Audrey Hepburn in it.  Very pretty and it's on sale."  Quinn unzipped it for her and handed her the pink.  "Try this one next."  

Daria took the pink dress.  It was a simple dress, very little adornment, and again elegant and comfortable.  "Quinn, I don't know, I think I look naked in this color."  

"Well, I think you look pretty, but if there's anything about an outfit that makes you uncomfortable, you shouldn't buy it.  Will you try it in blue?  They had a pretty pale blue."  Quinn took the rejected dress and returned with its cousin.

Daria tried it in blue and was much happier with it. "I can live with this."  She went to put her boots on with it.

"Don't you dare!  I know you think you're being funny, but it's old.  There's a shoe store up the street.  Get dressed and give me your credit card, I'll get them started on this."  

Daria lingered over the Birkenstocks but Quinn's pout made her focus her attention on sandals.  "You probably don't want to wear pantyhose."

"You are correct."  Daria toyed with a sandal; she held it up to Quinn.

"No!  That's not just ugly, it's big and clunky and won't go with anything you're taking with you.  Can't you _see_ that?"  Quinn snatched it out of her hand and showed her a low-heeled, strappy, black sandal.  "This is much better." 

Daria had a blank look on her face and shrugged.  "Okay."

"You really _can't_ see it can you?"  Quinn eyed her sister as though she had a medical condition.

"I just don't care like you do."  Daria picked up a white sandal.

"Obviously.  You can't wear that before Memorial Day.  Here's one in bone, it's much nicer.  The only white shoes you should own are Keds."  Quinn said authoritatively.  "I should have a show."  

"I'd like to remind you that, in a way, you already have a show.  Just tell me what I should buy and let's get coffee or something, this is stressing me out."  After finding out which of the footwear was available in Daria's size, they bought it and sought refreshment.

"Daria, if it makes you feel better, I think that these things are very nice, and were reasonably priced.  We still have one more stop and I don't want to hear complaining."  Quinn sipped her skinny latte and assessed their baggage.

"What else?  I've got clothes and I've got shoes, what more do I need?"  Daria did not enjoy shopping.

"Underwear."  Quinn was matter of fact, when you were conducting an intervention you try to leave as much emotion out of it as possible.

Daria waived off the suggestion. "I have underwear."  

Quinn chose her words carefully, "you have undergarments, in the strictest sense of the word. But Daria, you need some fancy, pretty things."  

Daria scrunched up her face in distain.  "No, I'm fine."

Quinn sighed, "Daria, how do you feel about yourself?"  

"I'm fine.  Where is this going?"  Daria gave a look around the room; to assure herself that no one she knew was lurking in her blind spot.

"This is a philosophy of mine..." Quinn started.

"Oh?  You have an underwear philosophy?"  Daria interrupted.

"Yes.  Laugh all you want, but you'll see; I'm right about this.  Every woman needs the proper undergarments.  They can be confections of lace and chiffon, they can be silk or satin, they can be as comfortable and serviceable as white cotton, but just like you have a personal style, your underwear must also be a part of your outfit.  There's a reason they call them _foundation_ garments.  Daria, I've seen your laundry basket.  Your underwear is a disgrace, I'm surprised Trent hasn't said anything."  

"Why would Trent say anything?"

"Because your underwear..." Quinn made a face.

"Trent doesn't see my underwear.  You may not believe this but my underwear doesn't come up in conversation...usually."  Daria had been toying with getting something beyond the things she usually bought at Wal-Mart, along with garden hoses and cat food.

"Then I'm just in time.  You need my help.  Please let me help you.  I'll bet your bra doesn't fit."  Quinn began gathering up their detritus.

"I _beg_ your problem?" Daria's bags were beginning to get heavy.

"That's just a statistic.  Over 70% of women are wearing the wrong bra.  Either the style or the size.  That's really bad for your bust line.  Follow me, we're not going far."  They walked up the street, ignoring the shops filled with colorful soaps, makeup and bath towels.

The store was pink.  The building, the sign, the fixtures inside, pink, pink, pink.  "Why does it have to be pink?"  Daria groaned.

Quinn placed their bags with the girl behind the counter and settled in for some serious shopping.  "The first thing we need to do is get you fitted.  That lady over there with the tape measure...Oh miss?"  Quinn flagged her down and soon Daria was in the humiliating position of being measured, poked and assessed.  

The bra-lady came out and began to select the appropriate bras for Daria.  "34C.  It's an unusual size, but not completely impossible.  She needs support so lets go for some with underwires."  A small howl escaped the fitting room.  "If they fit well dear, they won't be uncomfortable.  You know some girls pay for what you've got."

"Some girls don't know the value of money."  Daria muttered.  She tried to put the first bra on the way she always had.  She put the cups behind her and hooked it up the front.  

"Okay, here's your first problem.  Honey, there's a method for this.  First bend over and put your arms through the straps.  Now, put yourself into the cups."  Daria did as she was instructed.  "Now hook it up in the back.  You'll get the hang of it, it's not rocket science."  

"No, rocket science is important.  This is just mortifying." Daria stood up and checked herself out.  

"See the difference?"  The bra lady admired her handiwork.

"I _feel _the difference."  Daria wriggled around unaccustomed to the snug fit.

The bra-lady picked up the bra she had been wearing.  It was a grayish-white cotton bra, well worn and shapeless.  "Yes, there's a big difference between a bra that supports and...this."  

Quinn poked her head in.  "That's more like it.  You need more colors.  White, beige, black, pink," she ticked them off on her fingers.  And matching panties.  Maybe lace?"  

Daria nodded mutely, she was outnumbered and outgunned; resistance was futile.  "At least after this we're done."

"Didn't I mention the salon?"  Quinn ducked out quickly, to avoid a scene.

***

Trent held the slim, leather sandals in his hands.  "They go on your feet."  Javi said helpfully.  Trent studied his feet, then compared them with the shoes.  It seemed improbable, but these guys knew what they were doing.  Jesse's hair was being cut, colored and styled, Max was counseled on the correct products and method for shaving his head and a perturbed Nick was having his "colors done."  

Michael was organizing wardrobe.  "I see Jesse in leather pants and a BIG white shirt, open to show off his chest."  Jesse nodded, absorbed in the process.  "Trent, you are the broody dark one, you play off of Jesse, so you wear all black.  Max, he is the rebel, he wears the torn jeans and the T-shirts.  Nick...he's an enigma, so angry and aloof...I think russet for him."  Michael rifled through the rack for the appropriate clothing. 

Jesse gave his hair a toss.  Javi clapped in approval.  "See!  It's really good now.  Everyone will fall in love with you."

Trent sighed and put the shoes on.  "Someone needs a pedicure I think."  Javi pronounced.

"Oh, I'd love one."  Jesse added, remembering when Rayna used to pamper his feet.  

The hair stylist turned his attention to Trent.  "I think that instead of these spikes that you should encourage your hair to curl.  It will grow out beautifully."  He raked a professional hand through his locks.  "Come with me, I need to wash out the stiffness."

Trent resisted, "I like my hair the way it is."

Timothy's mouth formed a disapproving moue.  "Now, now, you agreed, this is part of the label's investment in you.  Besides, don't you want the girls to swoon over you?"  

"I have a girlfriend."  Trent leaned back in the sink so that they could shampoo his hair.  

"With those eyebrows?"  It was as though representatives from two different countries had come together, they needed an interpreter.  

"Okay, so my clothes, hair and now my eyebrows are all wrong.  What's right?"  Trent was quickly losing patience with the grooming aspect of his music career.

Sofia, who had recently been promoted to Mystik Spiral's artist representative put her magazine aside and came to soothe Trent.  "Don't be that way, you're perfect, just the way you are."  She patted his shoulder as the conditioner was being rinsed from his hair.  "Everyone, no matter how perfect they are, can always use...more perfection.  That's all this is.  You'll see, you'll be even MORE perfect."  She gave him a friendly scratch with her long, sculptured nails.  "You'll love it."

Trent resigned himself, they were in too deep now, he only hoped that he wasn't the one that was going to be wearing the ruffled pirate shirt.

***

Miami International Airport didn't seem like a destination in America.  As Daria wheeled Quinn's leather suitcase through the concourse she noted that the primary language was Spanish.  Even the boarding calls were in Spanish.  Every language could be heard, Spanish, French, German, Portuguese even some that Daria couldn't place.  The place was surreal.  She walked nearly a mile before she cleared the security gates and began to look for Trent.  People were hugging each other in reunion all around her and she began to panic.  What if he didn't show up?  What if he forgot?  What if he was with his new girlfriend and they were laughing at her roaming around this bastion of third world aviation?  She bit her lip and a handsome man approached.

"Daria?"  He reached for her suitcase.

"Trent?"  She stared.  She couldn't help but take him in, head to toe.  "What happened?"

"Stylists," he spat out contemptuously.

"But you look so..." she groped for a word and had none.

"Perfect?"  He began to walk with her suitcase and motioned for her to follow.

"Well yes, perfect is the word that describes you."  Daria scanned his short, curly hair, his tight black jeans and the loose, flowing shirt that accented everything appealing in his lean figure.  Even the sandals gave him sophistication she didn't know that he had.

"So I see that your sister did a number on you too."  He tried to deflect her attention.

"Yes, but I have an excuse, I'm visiting a much warmer climate.  But seriously, you look fantastic."  She smiled, trying to cheer him up.  He opened the door for her and she walked out of frigid air conditioning and into a sauna.  Her glasses steamed up.  "They weren't kidding, this is just like summer in Texas."  She felt her skin prickle with the sudden temperature change.  

Trent showed her to the rental car and drove the short way back to the hotel.  "We have our own room this weekend."  

Daria froze, what was she supposed to make of that?  "Okay.  Cool."  

"We'll go there first and you can rest before we go to the studio."  Trent drove down surface streets towards the hotel.  Rather than being full of palm trees and stucco houses, as Daria had imagined, they seemed to be going through an area of light industry.  Low office buildings and semi-warehouses dotted the roadsides as they headed down Doral Boulevard.  

"So this is Miami?"  Daria stared out at a cluster of fast food restaurants.  

"Yeah, not like you see it on TV.  This is all that I've seen of it since I've been here."  Trent shrugged.

"So no beach, no bikinis, no tropical drinks?  Nothing?"  Daria asked, incredulously as she watched the heat shimmer up from the pavement as they passed yet more cinderblock buildings.  

"Nothing.  It's just studio, hotel room and drive through for dinner.  If I had known that this is what a career in music was like..."  He realized that she didn't want to know how miserable he had been.  "At least our disk is finished." He fished out a preview copy of Spiral De Mystico, _Para Ti_.  There was a picture of Jesse out front, blond hair billowing behind him, with the rest of the band featured nearly in silhouette in the background.

Daria squinted at the jewel case.  "Why is Jesse in front?"

Trent shrugged.  "He's the one that speaks Spanish, plus they're pushing him as the heartthrob of the group."  He turned on the radio, which was set to an alternative station.  

Daria turned down the volume.  "Who's doing the singing?  What's your role?"

"Daria, it's not like that.  First of all, he's single, so it makes sense for him to be out in front.  You have to admit, he is...hunky.  Secondly, he's the spokesman now; he speaks the language.  I'd just be faking.  It's better this way."  Trent waved at the guard as he pulled into the resort.

"So Mystic Spiral has sold out?"  Daria put the case in the console.

"Yes.  But we sold out the minute we agreed to sing in Spanish...the rest of it was just agreeing on price."  Trent paraphrased the punchline of a joke.

***

After lunch and a nap, Trent's phone began ringing.  Throughout the afternoon his time became more and more monopolized.  

"Daria, I hate to ask, but did you bring a dress, something that you could wear to dinner?"  Trent asked as he ran some product through his hair and gave it a "joosh".  

"Yes, I've got a lulu.  Why?"  Daria worked with the scrunchie that Quinn gave her and created an elegant but casual updo.  

"We're meeting with some of the executives after the taping.  We're going to some place on the bay."  He didn't come right out and say that she needed to be dressed up. 

"Not a problem."  Daria finished with her hair and took her suitcase into the bathroom to dress.  

Trent watched as she closed the door.  She was still as reserved as ever.  He was hoping that this trip would be the perfect time for him to make his move.  He was reviewing his options in that area when the phone rang again.  He was explaining to Max about their different images when Daria emerged, dressed up.  

"Just a minute.  Wow, you look great."  Daria wore the black dress.  With her hair up and a bracelet she looked like one of the girls at the studio.  "Max, just wear what Michael told you to wear.  Seriously, this is not the time to be screwing around.  Put Nick on.  Yeah, I know, but sit on him if you have to.  They're sending a car for us, meet in the lobby in ten minutes and make sure he's wearing the right shirt.  

A large limousine met the group in the lobby.  Sofia herded everyone into the car for the ride down the street.  It took them only five minutes.  There were some tour busses in the parking lot and a huge line of people waiting to get into the studio.  There were satellite earth stations all over the parking lot, at least twenty of them.  Sofia got the band into dressing rooms where Javi and Michael tweaked and primped.  

Sofia motioned for Daria to follow her.  "I'm so glad you're here, Trent has been so depressed."

"Really?  I'm surprised, this is what he's always dreamed of."  She indicated the studio. 

Sofia took out a bottle of water and sipped.  "No, this is the hard part.  They dream about being rich and famous. When the guys first get here, they're excited; they are willing to do anything to make their dream come true.  After a few weeks of work, they start to miss home.  Even some of the really poor kids, they want Mama's pozole and the girl they left behind down south.  I'm hoping that after Trent spends some time with you that he's going to be in a good frame of mind for the tour."  She sipped again and screwed the lid back on.  "Come meet Don Francisco, he's super nice!"  Sofia steered Daria through the maze of corridors and onto the soundstage.  There were seats for the audience, ringed by mirrors.  It gave a feeling of vastness to what was a fairly small stage and studio.  

Sofia approached a gentleman in a very stylish suit.  He looked a little like a Latin version of Big Boy.  There were some words exchanged in Spanish, along with some cheek kissing.  Sofia waved Daria over.

Don Francisco took Daria by the hands and leaned down to air kiss her cheek.  "So you are Trent's girlfriend?  He's a lucky man.  Sofia, isn't she elegant?"  

Sofia nodded, "This is her first time in Miami."

"Oh?  Are you going to see South Beach?"  He made small talk pleasantly.

Daria was uncomfortable.  She had never met people who seemed so warm and friendly without knowing her at all.  "I don't think so."  She flushed with embarrassment.

"Oh too bad, I know that many young people have a good time there.  Perhaps another time.  Oh, there's our director, I've got to go look over the script.  It was nice to meet you."  He smiled as he went over to discuss the show.

"Isn't he great?  _Oye_, there's my friend, come meet her." Sofia squealed and hugged a curvy blond.  "Daria, come meet Sissi."

Sissi smiled and flipped her hair and air kissed Daria's cheek, a thing she realized that she had better get used to.  "You look familiar," she stated after the introductions, "where did you go to high school?"

"Lawndale.  But I don't think we know each other from there, I would have remembered someone like you."  

"No, I went to Cardinal Gibbons.  You look soooo familiar though, have you been on TV?"  Sissi stretched a bit, in preparation for her dancing.

Daria debated about whether or not to bring it up, "Well, you know that Jesse was on Get Real, and I was at the party, maybe you know me from there."  

"Oh right!  But it has something to do with hair I think...your scrunchie, you're the girl on the infomercial!  I love the products.  Sofia, when you wear your hair curly you have to use this stuff."  Sissi prowled around her gym bag and came up with Quinn's hair gel.  "It gives the curl without the frizz."

Sofia took it, "Really?  Like last week when we went to that party?  Your hair was so cute."  

Daria gave up, "You know, I'm the last person to worry about hair, but the product is really good." She couldn't believe that she was bonding over hair.  

"You'll have to tell me how to get it."  Sofia gave the tube back to her friend and they headed back towards the dressing room.  

"I'll send you some, it's my sister's company.  I get a discount."  Daria felt proud saying it.  

"Thanks.  I get a blow-out for the weekend, but during the week my hair is just a frizzball in the summer."  She raked her nails through her glossy, black hair.   

"It's really pretty."  Daria said, somewhat at a loss for words.

"Thanks.  I like yours too. I think they're ready."  She opened the door and the band was sitting around eyeing each other warily.  Jesse stood in the middle of the room, bearing a resemblance to Fabio.  "Oh!  You guys are geniuses!  Michael, Javi, I don't know what we'd do without you.  Daria, isn't it amazing?"

Trent fingered his guitar, if he were a cat his tail would be swishing.  Daria studied them.  They were the same guys, but they looked so much better than they usually do.  Max came up to her conspiratorially, "They waxed my eyebrows."

"Okay."  Daria didn't really have a comeback for that.  There were some platters with finger sandwiches.  White bread with cheese and pimento spread, empenadas and some guava pastries.  Nick picked at them, but not with gusto.

They were scheduled to go on in the second hour of the show.  Daria heard Sophia arranging it.  "Okay, so first the talent contest, then the game show, commercial, commercial, the panel discussion, a comedy skit, commercial, commercial, then our guys.  We've got to get out by eight, we have reservations at nine.  Can we move the order if something goes long?" she asked the stage manager.

"Nothing ever goes long.  This is a one-take show.   Besides, we're saving the kids for later, and if anything they're the ones that hold things up.  He loves that Art Linkletter bit though.  Personally, I think the kids are obnoxious."  He checked some stuff on the clipboard, "we've got some instruments set up, this is a lip synch deal tonight.  No funny business, right?"  He gave the band the hairy eye-ball, "I mean it, you aren't the Doors and we ain't Ed Sullivan.  You're going out to Europe and the Americas tonight.  This isn't The Music Channel, we're professionals here."  The band muttered an agreement.  Trent continued to sulk, but thanks to the stage manager, he now knew what Sabado Gigante _wasn't_, now he just needed to figure out what it _was_.  

Daria watched the monitor and sipped a can of soda.  The show was something that she had seen periodically in Texas, usually while channel surfing.  Apparently the show ran for three and a half hours every Saturday night.  It appealed to the entire family, who apparently watched religiously.  The audience sang along with the commercial jingles; which were sung live in the studio.  It was what Daria imagined television was like in the fifties, if it were done in color, in Spanish and with nearly naked women dancing while pointing at products.

Each segment was taped in order; they were about fifteen minutes away from shooting the Spiral De Mystico song.  The band was collected by the stage manager and herded to their spot on the soundstage.  When they took their place on the stage, the audience went crazy.  Girls held up homemade Spiral De Mystico signs.  The stage manager was wrong, this WAS Ed Sullivan, and Spiral De Mystico were The Beatles.  Young girls continued to scream as the song cued up.  Jesse took the front of the stage, with Trent slightly behind him.  Trent sang the verse, and when Jesse joined in on the chorus the crowd went wild.  His hair flowed, the girls swooned and when they were finished, it took about ten minutes to quiet the audience down enough to go on with the cooking segment.  

Trent packed up his guitar and gave it to a roadie. Daria followed him out to the limo.  "What was that?"

Trent shrugged, "That was why we have a record deal."

"Where have I been?"  Daria was amazed; Mystic Spiral was a bona fide hit.  Rock stars for real. 

"We're big in Argentina," he explained.

"And Peru, Uruguay, Chile, Costa Rica, Panama, Brazil and El Salvador.  For some reason, they hate us in Bolivia."  Nick said sarcastically.  "Great, I'm a rock star in every armpit country in the world."  He got into the car with a huff.

"Don't be like that man.  I'd rather be big in Latin America than sleeping over a brew pub in Boston."  Jesse sat next to Sofia and took her hand.

"You'll see, once you start performing, and you see how the people love you, you'll love them right back."  Sofia tried to cheer him up; oblivious to the fact that Nick was not a cheerful guy.  "I hope you didn't fill up on the sandwiches, we're going to Porçao.  It's a Brazilian place, fabulous.  Perfect if you're on Atkins."  She smiled and squeezed Jesse's hand.  

Daria leaned against Trent, who watched out the window as they drove into downtown Miami.  The skyline glittered as the last vestiges of the sun sank behind them.  They pulled up to the restaurant located in a hotel.  They had a view of the Biscayne Bay from their table.     

They were shown to a table where the record company executives had already started with cocktails.  Instead of each having a separate drink order, there was a bottle of rum on the table, with various mixers on ice in a bucket next to it.  Sofia mixed Cuba Libres for everyone as the men rose to greet them.

Daria looked around the restaurant, since she couldn't follow the conversation, which was in "Spanglish".  Every now and again she could make out a phrase, "Tan Cute," or "Las Chickas," she was averaging about 12% comprehension.  She grew tired of trying to keep up.  Lights from the moon and from the city bounced off the water, but she felt like she was on the edge of the universe.  Waiters walked around the room with large skewers of meat.  Chicken, beef, sausages, one guy went around with a cart from which he offered servings of salmon with hollandaise sauce.  Their waiter came to the table and in rapid Spanish briefly explained the drill, Sofia translated, "Here is a chip with a picture of a pig on it.  _Tan cute_, right?  See, the pig with the green still wants more, if you want more, keep him up and they'll keep coming to you with more meat.  See the pig in red?  He's full.  If you don't want any more, turn his side up and they won't ask any more.  There's a buffet over there with salads and side dishes.  You start there and when you come back, they'll come around with the meat.  Have fun!"  She and Jesse spoke to each other softly, in Spanish, so Daria and Trent shrugged and went to the buffet.

"Trent, how much do people eat here?  I think that we could solve world hunger with this place."  She sorted through hearts of palm salad, roasted pepper salad, artichoke salad, spinach salad, steamed spinach and fried spinach.  

"Wow.  There's a lot to choose from." Trent walked the circumference of the buffet, to get an idea of what his options were, before filling his plate.  He concentrated on the fruits and vegetables, feeling that the previous six weeks of drive-through food left him malnourished.  

They returned to the table and the procession of meat began.  Daria and Trent sampled a little of everything, turning their pigs from green to red long before the rest of their party.  The rum flowed and the executives were speaking animatedly to Jesse and Sofia, who occasionally remembered to translate the important parts of the conversation.  "Six tour dates in Mexico.  Peru.  No show in El Salvador.  Live music video to be shot in Buenos Aires."  Daria wished that she was back in the room watching television.  The glamour of Trent's new lifestyle had worn off.  Now she wanted to sleep.  Sofia indicated that Daria should accompany her to the ladies room.

"I'll give you a ride back to your hotel.  The guys are going to take the party to a gentleman's club."  Sofia touched up her lipstick, "It's no big deal, but I don't think they'd be comfortable with us around.  Besides, I promised some friends that I'd meet them for drinks."  She blotted her lips on a tissue, admiring the result.

Daria reeled, gentlemen's club?  "Do they _want_ to go?"  

Sofia shrugged, "Probably not, but this is business, you do what you have to do.  It's a macho thing.  They look at the girls, they get a few lap dances, they eventually go home to their wives.  The executives feel like they are young for a night, and the band humors them.  I think that they look tired."  Sofia saw Daria's concern, "Really, it's nothing.  He'll probably be home within two hours.  They just go to say they went."  Sofia patted Daria's shoulder.  "Go back to the room, take a nice bath, put on your prettiest nightie and wait for him."  She made a motion with her hand that indicated that it was a done deal.  "He'll be all over you.  Come on, we'll have one of the limos to ourselves."

Daria arrived back at the room at around one in the morning.  She wondered how Sofia had the energy to get into her car and drive all the way back to Miami Beach, let alone continue her evening out.  Apparently there were a large number of  "after hours" clubs, catering to those for whom the night held the key.

Back in the room Daria hung up her dress and took a quick shower.  There was something about the climate that made frequent bathing attractive.  She got some of the scented powder that Quinn convinced her to buy and dusted herself.  Daria's hair tumbled down out of the scrunchie and it flattered her face with curly tendrils and wild disarray.  Carefully she reached into the lingerie bag and got the silk and lace confection out.  She had never owned anything so delicate.  If it wasn't merely decorative, one might call it a slip.  Ice blue silk edged in creamy lace, with pearl button accents.  She put it on over her head and for just a second she thought she looked like a sex goddess.  She turned away in embarrassment.  Then she looked again.  Tonight was the night.  She opened a pot of kiwi-pineapple lip balm and smoothed it onto her lips.  How could Trent resist her?

Daria arranged herself on top of the bedclothes, propping herself up on the pillows.  She turned on the television and waited for him to return.  

Just before three in the morning Trent let himself quietly into the room.  The light was dim, and for just a second he thought she might be awake, but he realized that she had fallen asleep with the television on.  He stripped down to his shorts and got into bed with her.  Just as he was about to turn the television off he noticed what she was wearing.  He turned one of the bedside lamps on.  There was no mistaking what her intention had been; unfortunately she was too tired to stay awake.  Trent was torn.  On one hand, he loved her and wanted her, on the other, he was exhausted and knew that she was too.  Although this could have been the moment that he had been waiting for, he realized that it would all keep until morning.  He gently put his arm around her, and fell asleep.

***

Morning brought more than sunshine.  It was nearly eleven when Trent ordered room service.  They were both freshly showered and sitting in bathrobes waiting for their breakfast. 

Trent felt closer to her than he had before.  He was ready to risk the truth with her.  "Daria, can I talk to you seriously?"  

She stopped sipping at her soda and wondered what he might say.  Rather than feel strange with him, she felt like they could talk about anything.  "Sure, you know you can."

"I know that Mystic Spiral is successful.  I thought that if the band could make it, that my dreams would be realized.  But I really hate this.  I'm away from you.  I don't get to do anything that I want to do.  I'm working night and day.  We're not even really playing our music."  

Daria handed the remainder of her soda to Trent.  "You knew that going into it.  If it wasn't what you wanted, why did you do it?"

"I thought I wanted it, plus there's everyone else to consider.  Max is behind on his child support, Nick was talking about quitting and moving to California.  Jesse, I don't even know where to begin with him.  He's a whole other guy now."  He raked his hands through his hair; "Jesse is the leader of the band now.  I'm just the guitar player.  I don't think I have a place here anymore."

Daria paused.  It was all true.  Sometimes events ran away with intentions.  You may have only started out to have fun and the next thing you know you're in a committed relationship, or in a band that's a phenomenon in Latin America.  "What would you do if you didn't play with Mystic Spiral?"  

"I don't know.  I guess I'd have to find something else to do.   I haven't really thought about it, all I know is that I don't want to continue with this."  

Daria shifted on the bed.  "You don't need my permission to quit.  You're your own person; you can do what you want.  Just be sure that the reasons that you quit are good ones.  No matter what you end up doing, there are going to be parts of it that are work."  

"It's not the fact that there's work involved that I want out.  I'm not _that_ flaky.  It's just that there's absolutely no part of Spiral de Mystico that I enjoy.  I just don't think that I should hate my profession." He sat back, waiting for her response.

"You hate it?"  Daria was surprised, "What's so bad about it?  Isn't there _anything_ that you like about it?"

Trent thought for a moment, "Money.  The only reason that I'm doing this is so that we can all get paid.  I don't like the direction our music is going, I don't like that our average fan age is twelve, I don't like the fact that I don't get five minutes to myself in an twenty-four hour period."  

"But it's temporary, just until you get established..." Daria tried to console him.

"That's just it, this isn't temporary.  This is the business.  When you first get in a band you think, 'hey, I'm playing with my friends, I make enough money for rent and I have girls coming out of my pockets.'  That's fun for a couple of years buy then you have a choice.  You have to stick with it, hoping that you'll make it, or you have to give it up and get a day job.  I blew off the military and I didn't go to college. I concentrated on the band, telling myself that it was my career, my _calling_.  But that was bullshit.  I just didn't like my options.  I got caught up in the lifestyle.  Sleeping late, playing in clubs, hanging out with the guys.  Dr. Phil says that if you don't go to work in eighteen months, that you only have a five percent chance of ever going to work.  Daria, I've been doing this for _seven years_.   What are my odds now?"

"I can't believe that you just quoted Dr. Phil."  She shook her head.

"I told you, I got caught up in the lifestyle, Dr. Phil just comes with it."  He smiled, "You know what, I'm obligated to finish the tour.  I know that we have to do that.  It's only two months.  Then I can come home and think about what my next move is.  Even if I decide to stop being a professional musician, will you still support me?"  He realized how it sounded, "I mean support my decision."  

Daria smiled, "You know what Freud said," she joked, "It's your life, you've got to do what's right for you, but I have to tell you, I don't see myself staying with someone who doesn't do anything.  Just because you can get by with a few bucks in your pocket, that doesn't give you license to sit around the house."  She was emphatic, to make sure he got the point.

"Okay, but I'll need a bit of time just to..."

"Find yourself?  You are such a cliché sometimes."  There was a knock at the door, their breakfast had arrived.

"Well, I guess I need to 're-evaluate my life plan' then.  Is that better?"  The waiter set everything up and Trent signed for it as Daria sat down to her steak and eggs.

"Dr. Phil again?  Okay, I agree, a short sabbatical for 're-evaluation of life plan' then you've got to get a job."  She bit into her toast.

"Agreed."  He poured syrup on his waffles and became thoughtful. "Will it be okay if I taped Dr. Phil?  I don't think I can go cold turkey."

****

Author's note:  If you blinked you might have missed the fact that Daria and Trent became lovers.  I could have written a big, gushy love scene, but frankly, I've done it to death.  If you want to know every little thing, then read "In the Moonlight."  RB


	25. The Last Waltz

The Last Waltz

By Ruthless Bunny

Daria opened the bag of corn chips and smelled the familiar smell.  "Aye, aye, aye iiii, I am the Frito Bandito..."she sang as she spread them on the bottom of the Pyrex casserole.  She put a couple in her mouth and continued to cook.  Next, the cheese.  She layered the ingredients on, just like she remembered.  

Quinn came through the back door.  "I don't believe it.  You're really doing it!" She scooped up Joyce and snatched a couple of cheese curls for her.  The cat appreciated the thought, but glanced longingly at the counter in hopes of more.  

"Look in the fridge," Daria instructed.  

Quinn did as she was told and squealed, "You have it all! Where did you find the bottles?"  

Daria finished the dish and put it in the oven to heat.  "There's a store by campus that has them.  They were a fortune, but worth every penny."  

Quinn shook her head, "Frito Pie and Dr. Pepper, it's just like Texas..." her nose wrinkled involuntarily.

"Without idiots, uranium in the water and hot and cold running gun racks.  I do miss some stuff though."  She wiped the counters carefully.  

"Like WHAT?  Seriously, it was a dump and I was happy to get out of it."  Quinn held the garbage can up to the granite counter for her.

Daria thought for a moment.  "Frito Pie and Dr. Pepper.  And speaking of dumps, Dump Cake." 

"Shut up!" Quinn squealed with pleasure, 'that's quite a feast.  So who else is coming to dinner?  That was a huge dish."  She flipped through her mail.

"Mike, Joe and Jane."

"Mike?" Quinn took a lipstick out of her purse and applied it.

"Yeah.  What's the problem?" 

"Nothing.  Mike's nice."  She blotted and reapplied some perfume.

"You like him."  Daria challenged her to deny it.

"So?  Is there a law against it?  I like a lot of guys."  She tried to be nonchalant, but it just didn't work for her.  

"No you don't.  A lot of guys like you.  So you like Mike?  That's interesting."  She smiled to herself.  

"Stop it.  Stop looking all smug.  So I like a guy.  The world won't come to an end." She waited a second before adding, "so when does he get here?"

"Six. He doesn't like to eat late. Help me set the table."  

Quinn took the plates out of the cabinet, then the flatware out of the drawer.  "Paper or cloth napkins?" she asked as she piled everything on the stack of plates.

Daria was washing up at the sink. "Paper, let's not give the boy a swelled head."  She pitched a chunk of unshredded cheese at the cat.  

Joyce loved cheese, but she refused to perform like a dog.  She made a big show of sniffing at the cube, evaluating it and sequencing its DNA.  When she was finished, she delicately nibbled at it.   

Quinn, finished with setting the table, returned to the kitchen for a glass of water.  Mike burst in through the back door.  "Oh JU-U-U-NE! I'm home!"  

Daria blinked at him.  Quinn smiled.  His shoulders sank.

"Daria, your line is 'In here Ward!"  He dropped his bag and rooted in the cabinets for a glass.  

"I didn't realize I _had_ a line," Daria explained, reaching up to the place where glasses had always been kept in the kitchen.  

"Well, you do.  Didn't you watch old TV shows when you were a kid?"  He filled it with tap water while a horrified Quinn watched.

"We have filtered water in the fridge," she offered.

"Nah.  This is fine.  Been drinking it my whole life."  He gulped the glass down, leaving it empty on the counter.  "I'll just use that one tonight.  No sense in dirtying up two of them. So June, how was your day?  Are you worried about the Beaver?" He picked up Joyce, who circled his legs, and stroked her.

"Just mopped the floor in pearls, played bridge with the girls and stifled my creativity.  How was _your_ day?"  

"Well, I have news.  It's official.  I'm in the draft.  Next year I'll be playing in the NHL."  He waited for the sisters to get hysterically happy for him.  They smiled pleasantly at him.  "I also have a favor to ask.  I guess I need to ask a favor of you too Princess," he said to Quinn.

"What's the favor?"  Daria asked as she wiped the counter.

"Well, life at the house has become...hectic.  I need to get away from the phone, the guys and I need somewhere to..." he tried to finish the sentence.

"Hide?" 

"Well, if you insist on putting like that.  Yeah, I need to hide.  Come on Daria, no funny stuff.  I can't go to my house; my brothers can't keep their mouths shut.  I can't stay with the guys; they're just acting stupid.  Frankly, I need a place where I can focus on finals, and where the phone isn't ringing off the hook with reporters and lawyers and other disreputable types.  Quinn, you understand. Right?" 

Quinn shrugged, but looked to Daria for her cue.  Daria nodded.  "Sure.  You can stay here.  I guess in Trent's room?"  Again, Daria was consulted visually, again, a nod.  "Just don't tell anyone where you are.  I don't want my lawn trampled by some local news van."

"Yeah, and no late night crap.  I like it quiet."  Daria checked on the casserole, smiling slightly at the bubbling cheese.

"I promise.  I get up early to skate, so I need my beauty rest too.  You guys are great.  I'll get you tickets any time you want them.  You're the BEST!"  He grabbed them up in a bear hug.

Quinn blushed.  "Oh Mike, stop!  You're a friend of the family."  

"Thanks Princess.  That's good to know.  So when do we eat? I'm starving!"  

"Gee Ward, were you born in a barn?  We have to wait for Millie and Jerry to show up.  They should be here any minute." The sound of slamming car doors confirmed it.  "Take the salad into the dining room please."  Daria decided to wait until later to decide how she felt about Mike moving in.

  
***  
  


Jesse spoke quietly with Sofia in the back of the bus.  Nick and Max were watching 'Meatballs' on the VCR.  For the third time.  'There's a reason we haven't seen this since the seventh grade,' he thought.  He stared out of the bus at the scenery.  Trent noticed a few crosses along the road.  'Yeah.  That about sums it up.'  He had been depressed since the first time the tour had been extended.  That was six weeks ago.  They kept adding cities, venues, dates.  Trent felt like he lived on this bus.  He looked out through the front window, decorated not with fringe made of yarn, but with fringe pained directly onto the windows with white paint.  This was supposed to be the last stop.  Mexico City.  The big one.  Three dates, then home.  Not just home, the US, but home to Daria.

Finally, the farmland gave way to the city.  They traveled through the suburbs; streets became populated, dotted with advertising, stores and guys selling ice cream out of small refrigerated carts.  They spent an hour in traffic before they finally got to the hotel.  Thank goodness it was a good hotel, not some fleabag.  But even so, being on the road meant living out of a suitcase, doing laundry in the sink and eating yet another _hamburgesa_ from room service.  He had promised Nick that he would share the room with him.  Let Jesse deal with Max for a change.  

Sofia had gone up to her room and Jesse motioned to Trent that they should go to the lounge. Everyone else went up to shower and unpack.  

Jesse asked the bartender to bring beers,  "You know Trent, this has been amazing.  We're selling out stadiums.  Did you ever, really think that we'd be this famous?"  

Trent shook his head.  "No.  Not like this.  Remember back when we were kids?  We saw ourselves doing this..." how to say this?  "We were doing it in English."  

"So?  What's the difference?"  Jesse flicked the lime wedge on the bar and watched it spin.

"I always saw myself out front, singing my songs.  Don't take this the wrong way, but it seem weird that you're the one..." Trent shrugged, he looked jealous and petty.

"No, I understand.  We've always had it where you're lead.  I guess it must be weird having me doing the singing in Spanish. Does it bother you that I'm the one they're focusing on?"

Trent sipped and thought, "I don't really care that you're the star of the group, it's not that.  I just feel like the Mystic Spiral sound has been perverted somehow.  We're not really doing grunge or alternative, we're just a roughed up version of Menudo.  Jesse, now you're the heart of the band.  If Nick and Max and I left the group, it wouldn't matter; you could replace us with other guys and it would still be Mystic Spiral.  While it's great performing I don't feel like this crowd _gets_ Mystic Spiral.  They're just here to see you.  I can live without that.  I hate being on the road, especially in Mexico.  I miss Daria, I miss home."  

Jesse nodded. "I feel like every dream I ever had about music has come true.  I'm moving to Miami when we get back.  There's no point in Boston any more.  What are you going to do?"  

"Move to Miami?  Are you doing that to be closer to Sofia?"  Trent couldn't think of any other reason.

Jesse avoided looking at Trent, "no, there's more to it than that.  My career is focused here, in Mexico and Latin America.  If I'm going to build on this, I've got to be where the industry is.  I've got a real estate agent looking for a condo for me on South Beach.  Sure, it'll be great to be near Sofia, but right now, I'm concentrating on my music."

Trent shook his head, "_Your_ music?  When did this become _your_ music?"

"You knew what we were doing when we signed up.  If you didn't want to do it, why did you come along?"  Jesse caught the attention of the bartender who brought over two more beers.

"I've been asking myself that question every day and every night for the past three months.  I think that it just seemed like the next logical step.  When you work as a musician you start to believe that the goal is to be rich and famous.  We played clubs and made a living, but there's supposed to more to it than that.  So we're grabbing at every opportunity, including this opportunity.  If I'm really, really honest, I think I knew that I didn't want to do this even before we all agreed to it.  I just kept thinking about Max and his family. Nick wanted a chance to make some money.  You really wanted it.  Me, I went along because I was expected to.  I didn't want to be the one standing in everyone else's way.  Jesse, I know that we always promised each other that we'd stay together, but I think that this is as good a time as any for me to bail out.  After this gig, I just want to go home."  Trent waited to see if his friend understood.

"Wow.  So you'd leave Mystic Spiral?  After all this time, right when we've got everything?"  

"That's just it, we may have everything, except that I don't have anything that I want.  What's the point of all this fame when you can't enjoy it?  I was a lot happier when I was playing gigs at the pub and coming home to Daria."

"We're not going to be on the road forever.  We're going home in less than a week.  Then we can relax and spend some of the money we've been earning.  I think you should wait until after we get home before you make any big decisions."  

"No.  Jess, it's been too long. If there was even a part of this that I liked, I'd see what you were saying, but there's nothing.  Even the gigs are impersonal.  There's no one here who cares about me or what I think or what I want." 

"Hey, I care." 

"I'm not judging you, but you know me, you know that I don't like this kind of stuff.  I know you want what's best for me, and since this is all that we've been talking about since we were kids, it's easy to assume that it's what I want.  I've changed.  I've been changing, or maybe I never changed.  When we talked about being successful, I always imagined us playing for money.  That was as far as it got.  You were the one with the stadium dreams.  Me, I just wanted to sing for a living.  My big dream now is to go home, eat a plate of Daria's spaghetti and to try to solve the puzzle on Wheel of Fortune."  Trent sighed; it really was all he wanted.

"I wish I could understand that.  We worked so hard and we got what we worked for. I guess the guys and I will go on without you.  Does it make me a bad person if I ask if we can still use the name Mystic Spiral?"

Trent laughed, "No Man, that's perfect.  I never liked the name anyway.

***

Somehow the girls were in the kitchen, talking and wiping up, while the guys were in the living room watching ESPN.

"Daria, why are you letting them off the hook?" Jane asked as she stacked the plates in the dishwasher.

She shrugged, "I guess I just don't care enough to make a big deal.  Technically, since you are the guests, I should be here alone and you all should be watching Sports Center."

"Yeah, well, if those are my choices..." Jane rearranged the glasses on the top shelf.

"So Daria, when is Trent coming back?  I mean, if Mike is going to be living here, in Trent's room, won't there be a conflict or something?"  Quinn asked as she reached into the cabinet.

Jane's head whipped around, "Mike's moving in here?"

"Just temporarily.  Something about the draft and how it's really crazy at his house.  He just wants peace and quiet."  Quinn topped off Joyce's Meow Mix.

"Bullshit."  Jane stated emphatically.  

"Pardon me?"  Daria adjusted her glasses, which had traveled down her nose.

"You heard me.  Bullshit.  Mike doesn't need sanctuary.  What's _really_ going on here?" Jane's arms were akimbo on her hips, clearly challenging Daria.

Daria blushed.  She couldn't honestly deny that Mike was trying to get closer to her, but on the surface, the story was that he needed a place to stay. 

"Daria?"  Quinn stared at her sister.  "How could you let me go on like that when you knew...?"  Quinn blushed too, but with anger not embarrassment.

"Isn't this typical?  Jesus Daria, what do you do, spin a web and wait for them?"  Jane picked up a dishtowel, decided not to wipe the counter, and threw it back down, for effect.

"Hey, you're not being fair."  Daria honestly didn't expect such a negative reaction.  "So he likes me.  It's not like it's going to go anywhere. I told him that. He's my friend, what harm is it going to do for him to stay here for a week or so?"  

"Fair?  You've got a nerve talking to me about fairness."  Jane huffed.

"Are you ever going to get over that?  Seriously, do I have to apologize for the rest of my life?"  

"If you're lucky.  Look, boyfriend stealing, or snagging or rebounding or whatever you want to call it, is low rent.  Everyone knows that Daria...except you.  But I forgave you.  I promise Daria, if this goes where I think we all know it's going, and you hurt Trent, I'll not only never forgive you for that, I'll retroactively un-forgive you for going out with Tom.  We won't be friends."  Jane's face had clouded over; her scowl could be felt like a cold front from Canada.  

Quinn explained, with her usual clarity.  "Daria, we all thought that maybe you really were too dumb about relationships to know that by dating Tom that you automatically would lose Jane as a friend.  We just thought you were the luckiest girl ever born that Jane didn't dump you when you kissed him.  But seriously, you don't expect me to believe that you don't know that if Mike likes you and you let him move in here, that you aren't encouraging him."  

"_Encouraging_ him?  Remember _Sis_, you were the one who _encouraged_ him.  Not me. It's _your_ house."  Daria spit the words out angrily.

"Daria, I was encouraging him to spend time with me!" Quinn shook her head sadly, as though Daria had deeply disappointed her.

"_Nothing_ is going on here."  Daria rolled her eyes.  

"Right.  Nothing.  That's how you square it with yourself, is it?"  Jane paced as she spoke, "that's always your story.  _You _didn't start it.  _You_ have the best intentions.  Daria, that's shit.  You know what's going on.   By not actively discouraging them, you give them permission.  You got in the car with Tom.  You let Trent live with you in the dorm.  Give me a break; you couldn't be more clear about what you want if you had it printed on a T-shirt."  Jane sighed with exasperation.

"So what are you saying?" Daria waived a wooden spoon wildly.

"I'm saying that you're probably lonely without Trent around and that you like the fact that Mike likes you.  I'm saying that one night, you and Mike will be sitting on the sofa, and you'll do that cutesy 'June and Ward' thing, and the next thing you know, you'll be kissing him and wondering how you're going to explain it to Trent.  Oh, and if you try to make it into some big drama where you're the injured party, I promise you Daria, I'll come after you with a rusty rake." 

"So you have a crystal ball do you?  I'll have you know that Trent and I are serious."  Daria looked at the floor.

Jane balled up her fists.  The volume on the TV in the other room rose. "Right.  So you finally slept with him.  You think that's going to make a difference?  I don't know what's going on in your head, but you are playing with fire here.  You know what you're problem is?  You are so unpleasant that if anyone likes you, in spite of your shitty attitude, that you are automatically giving them the keys to your kingdom."  Jane got down dessert plates and put them next to the cake.

"I'm unpleasant?"  Daria blinked, "that's so harsh."  

Quinn interrupted.  "But hardly a newsflash.  Daria, I think we'll acknowledge that you've had an opportunity to really broaden your horizons at Raft, but at heart, you're really nasty.   But I think it's just because you want to reject people before they reject you."  Quinn tried to soften the blow.

"Et tu, Quinn?"

"Me?  You're asking ME?  My whole life you've done nothing but try to bring me down.  It was like my existence threatened yours.  When we were little you tried to give me to the postman.  When I asked for your help with my homework you deliberately gave me the wrong answers.  If I tried to include you with my friends, you made fun of them and of me.  Finally, I get the hint, and I act like we aren't related and even then, you go out of your way to sabotage my friendships.  You know, it's only because I know, deep down, that you love me that I kept on trying to get to your level.  Finally, I think that we're at that stage where we can be friends, and then..." a tear fell down Quinn's cheek, "I confided in you and you just waited to crush me again."

"Now _wait_ a minute.  I did not ever try to crush you.  You're the one who was always so successful.  You were the stuck up nightmare.  You always rubbed my nose in your popularity."  Daria too, was close to tears, but from years of practice, she was able to control the impulse.

"A dog can only be kicked so many times before it learns to bite back."  Quinn shook her head, her voice lowering in sadness.

Jane shoved Quinn aside. "Oh, all right, that's enough of this pity party.  We're not here to resurrect scenes from your sibling rivalry, frankly, you guys are both much easier to take when you're friendly with each other." Jane turned her attention to her friend, "Daria, seriously, if you let Mike stay here you are giving him the green light.  There's no other interpretation.  So what is it?  Are you going to break up with Trent?"

"NO!  I'm not breaking up with Trent.  I'm not going to go out with Mike.  I'm just helping a friend."  

Jane was unmoved.  "Daria, don't be naive.  Mike knows exactly what he's doing.  He's a strategist.  You're not stupid, so what exactly do you think is happening?  What's the story you're telling yourself that makes this all okay?"  

Daria thought for a moment.  She looked at Jane, whose foot tapped quietly with annoyance.  She looked at Quinn, blotting her tears with a paper towel.  "You're right.  You are one hundred percent right.  I know that Mike is trying to move in, and I don't know how to keep him as a friend but to turn him down as a boyfriend.  So what do I do?"

Jane smiled her approval.  "Okay, now you're being honest.  It's not so hard.  You know, it's okay to ask for help."

Quinn powdered her face and took a deep breath.  "Daria, if you ever find yourself in this kind of situation, you can always come to me."

Daria looked between her sister and her friend. "Okay, so consider yourselves officially consulted."  

Jane smiled, "Good, you're in luck.  I'll solve your problem right now."  She turned her head and screamed, "Joe!"  The volume on the television had reached a critical level; she tried again, "JOE!"

Joe poked his head around the corner, "you rang?"

"Yes.  Turn down that television and ask Mike to come stay with you for a couple of weeks or until after the draft."  She smiled.

Joe seemed confused, but amenable, "Sure.  When's dessert?"

Daria held up the empty coffee carafe, "Coffee will be ready in about three minutes."

Joe nodded, "Sounds good.  Hey buddy..." He disappeared back into the living room.

Quinn got the coffee out of the fridge, "and I'll take it from here."  

Jane smiled, "See, it's so much better when we work together."

***

Trent looked over the bologna on white bread that passed for sandwiches in their dressing room.  He decided to wait until he got back to the hotel to eat anything.  Sofia was speaking quietly with Jesse; he nodded and smiled.  

A group of executives from the record company were in a corner drinking rum and laughing.  They were speaking Spanish, and Trent could only make out a few words, _novella_, _Univision_, and _exitio_.  Nothing that seemed to have anything to do with Spiral de Mystico.  

The rain had made the last three days interminable.  Trent was packed and ready to go, even though the first flight out was the next morning.  He wanted to wait overnight at the airport, but apparently there was an early morning meeting that he was required to attend.  Some documents to sign.  He wondered if soldiers felt the same way before being sent home from overseas.  It seemed like yesterday that he was with Daria, and yet he thought that he had forgotten what her face looked like.  He had to get home.

Nick seemed preoccupied.  He strummed quietly.  Max absently twirled his drumsticks and scratched his leg.  Trent approached them.  "I guess this is it.  The last show of the tour."  He hadn't yet told them that he planned to leave.  He didn't want it to be a big deal.

Nick stopped tuning his guitar and smiled.  "Last show," he said, almost as though he was trying the concept on for size.  He looked away and then seemed to reconsider something.  "Trent, I know we haven't talked much about what's going to come next but..."

Trent shook his head.  He could not lie to Nick.  He couldn't lie to anyone.  He'd rather avoid the subject than force the issue, but Nick plowed ahead.  "You know, I really don't like this kind of music."

Trent nodded, "Yeah, I hear you."  Better not to say too much.

"Do you think it would matter if I left the group?  I mean, anyone could master these chords.  Besides, I think they've got a whole orchestra behind us on the album anyway."  Nick didn't seem upset; he merely seemed tired.

Trent considered. "Do you want to leave the group?"

Nick became intense. "More than anything.  I hate this tour.  I'm tired, I'm hungry and I haven't seen a proper vegetable in over a month.  I just want to get home, make a salad and sleep for a month."

"We're all tired." Trent sidestepped the issue.

"Yeah, but I'm tired to my bones of this crap.  Seriously, I've been offered some session work in Nashville and I'm tempted to just go ahead and take it.  At least I'll get an opportunity to really play.  Not just this teeny-bopper, three-chord progression shit."  He riffed a bit, almost to prove that he really could play.

"But I thought you wanted to make it big.   This is pretty big."  Trent indicated the party that appeared to be taking place around them.

"Yeah, but it's not the kind of big that I can appreciate.  I think the time has passed for me to become Jon Bon Jovi.  I'm getting too old for this.  You know, at least I can say that I did it.  But really, I think I could do some really good work in Nashville."  He went back to fingering.  

Trent laughed a bit, more out of irony than anything else. "I think we all feel that way right now."

A roar of laughter came from the other side of the room.  Sofia and Jesse were enjoying a joke that one of the executives had told.  Nick shook his head, "I don't think that Jesse feels this way.  He's got a pretty sweet deal in all of this."

Trent agreed, "He really is the heart of the group now."

"It's not a group.  We're just backing him up.  You know that, right Trent?" 

"Yes.  I know that.  I guess I don't need to pretend anymore.  I'm not coming back.  I'm going home to Daria.  For good."  Trent sat down.  It felt good to say it out loud.

Nick laughed ruefully, "for what it's worth Max plans to buy a motorcycle and see America."

"We'll never see him again," Trent observed.

"Probably not." 

A drop of water splattered at Trent's feet.  "Rain.  Perfect.  This place leaks like a sieve. I wonder if we should cancel the show."

"We can't, we have a contract.  Just go on and don't stand in a puddle."  Nick got up and walked over to the makeshift bar.  "Want a coke?"  

Trent declined.

They waited in the wings while roadies mopped up the stage.  As predicted, the rain pooled on the stage. Trent closed his eyes in frustration.  The sooner they started, the sooner it would be over and he would be free.  Finally, the moisture was deemed manageable and they took their places.  Trent found his center and began to play.

After every song, Trent looked at the list.  He mentally subtracted the songs as they played them.  First one, then another, as he played he thought about how this would be the last time they would perform this song as a group.  For five years Mystic Spiral was his job, his passion and now he was counting the minutes until he would leave it behind forever.  He tried to feel melancholy about it, but he couldn't.  Every note brought him closer to the end. Closer to going home.  

Right after "Behind my Eyelids" the crowd chanted Jesse's name.  A beach ball floated around the stadium and although the rain began to soak the audience, they didn't seem to notice.  As they waited for the demonstration to die down, Trent reached over to adjust his mike and a blue spark traveled up his forearm to his elbow.  He instinctively pulled back.  Jesse rushed over to see if he was okay.

Trent assured him that he was, "it's okay Man.  I'm fine.  Let's just get this over with."  He felt that the shock was a metaphor.  He couldn't let Mystic Spiral just fall apart.  He realized that they needed to go out with a bang.  They had reached the last song.  The very last song they would perform together as Mystic Spiral.  It was 'Icebox Woman.'  Trent decided on a last minute change.  He indicated to the guys that he needed a huddle.

It only took a minute, but he worked it out with them.  The whole experience, in retrospect was bittersweet. They had struggled together and they had eventually succeeded, and now, they were all going their separate ways.  It wasn't bad, but it was sad in a way.

The distinctive chords resonated, and Trent found himself momentarily in the basement with the guys, working out their very first set.  Covers at the time, but still tight.

_I would say I'm sorry If I thought that it would change your mind..._

Boys Don't Cry. And now Trent felt that he had said goodbye properly.  Not just to Jesse and Nick and Max, but to his dream of rock and roll stardom.  He had it, but he found that he didn't want it.  There was something else.  Something more.  And now nothing could keep him from it. 

***

Quinn knew that he would be at the campus Food Court.  Daria told her that he usually had breakfast at about this time.  She worked it into her schedule.  She spotted him with a plate of eggs and tomatoes.

"Hi Mike, mind if I join you?"  She smiled at him.

"Sure Princess.  Take a load off."  He indicated the seat opposite him.

Quinn unloaded her tray of oatmeal and tea.  "High protein?" she asked, nodding at his meal.

"Yeah, helps me stay in shape.  Low fat?" He inquired of her breakfast.

"Everyone's different.  It works for me."  She stirred sweetener into her cereal.  "You know I came looking for you this morning."

Mike looked up from his newspaper.  "You did?"

"I did.  I know what you want and I think I can help you get it."  She continued to eat her cereal, letting him ponder where she was going.  It was fun messing with their minds sometimes. 

"So you think you know what I want?  Princess, I'm awfully complicated."  He smiled at her.

Quinn nearly melted, his smile was devastating, but she kept her cool and continued, "I know that you like Daria."  She shot him one of her smiles.

"Sure I like Daria."  He forked a tomato.

"You know what I mean. Jane's territorial about her brother, and I know what you were trying to do.  You want to be near Daria.  Well, I want to help.  I like you.  I think you'd make a good addition to the family."

Mike stopped eating and looked at her.  "Princess, this isn't a game.  I love your sister and I want to marry her."

Quinn's heart fell a bit, but she knew that anything worth having was worth fighting for, "Okay, even better.  But you need an excuse to be near her, and with Trent coming back, it's going to be harder now."

"Trent's coming back?"  Mike knew that it was inevitable, but it had been nearly three months.

"He arrives late tonight.  So are you interested in my plan?"  Quinn speared one of his tomatoes.

"You have a plan?"  He decided to indulge her.  "Go ahead, I'm listening."

"Well, I need a boyfriend but I don't have time to deal with anyone seriously.  So why don't you start taking me out?  There's a couple of benefits.  First, I don't have to be bothered with guys hitting on me; I've got a boyfriend.  Secondly, you now have a reason to be at my house.  You're visiting me.  We can even all hang out together.  Sure, you'll have to take me out alone a few times, to make it look real, but this way we both get what we want."  She sipped her tea and tried to look guileless.  

He ruminated.  "So you want me to be your beard?"

"Beard?"  Quinn had never heard the expression.

"Yeah, we pretend to be going out, but we're not really romantically involved."  Mike summed up for her.

"Okay, sure.  You'll be my beard and I guess I'll be yours."  She finished her tea. 

"I don't think so.  I think I can win Daria over without your help, and I don't really have time to be your boyfriend, not even if it's just for show.  You're high maintenance even when you aren't dating anyone."  He tried to dismiss her.

Quinn tried not to let her annoyance seep through her voice, "Oh Mike, you're funny.  I just seem high maintenance; actually I'm very easy to get along with.  But with Trent back in the picture and Jane seriously on to you, I don't think you're going to have a prayer with Daria unless we hook up."  

"What do you mean, Jane's 'on to' me?"  He seemed alarmed.

"You know that argument we had in the kitchen the other night?  Jane practically accused Daria of cheating with you and then she arranged to have Joe invite you to stay with him. Jane is very serious about protecting Trent.  And now that Daria is aware of what you are doing, she's going to avoid being alone with you.  So, there's a lot of stuff that's happened over the last couple of days.  In all the excitement, you might have lost track of where you really stand.  I guess you could do this without my help, but you've got to ask yourself, 'do I feel lucky?' Well?  Do you...Mike?"  Quinn smiled again, this time she meant business.

He thought about it.  He quickly went over his plan.  He had accounted for Trent's return, but he hadn't accounted for Daria being on guard, and now she was.  He considered Quinn.  He looked at her.  He liked her well enough, but he didn't know if he wanted to take her out.  He sighed, sometimes, even the best strategy had to be modified.  "Princess, you've got a deal.  Let's see if we can't make something happen here.  I've got to go to class, but call me at Joe's and I'll take you for a pizza and we can discuss how this is going to work."  He wrote his number on a napkin for her.

"Great.  I'll call you."  She carefully put it in her satchel and drummed her fingers on the table.  As he disappeared into the crowd she let the smile fade.  "This is going to be serious work."


	26. Everyone Goes To Trent's

Everyone Goes To Trent's

By Ruthless Bunny

Trent woke up and blinked in the sunlight.  He looked around and confirmed that he was not in a hotel.  Home.  He was home.  Daria had a bit of a head cold, so she snored quietly next to him.  He smiled.  This is what made it all worth it.  Home.  Soft, clean sheets and soft, clean Daria in them.  He hated to wake her, especially since she wasn't feeling well, but he wanted to hug her, so he gently encircled her sleeping form.  She snorted, and moved closer to him without opening her eyes.  

At seven the alarm went off and Daria began her day.  Trent made her a cup of hot tea with honey, for her throat, and brought it into her while she dressed.  

"So what are your plans for the day?"  she asked while pulling on her jeans.  She asked every day, hoping that one day he would have an answer.

Trent thought.  "I think I'll go to the bank and get some cash."  After being on the road for so long he felt that even one, common, errand sounded like a day's worth of activity.

Daria swallowed her annoyance.  Trent had been home for nearly a month and he still hadn't made a move towards his future.  She didn't know exactly what she expected, but coming home to him prone on the sofa watching court shows wasn't it.  "Anything else?"  She slid into her loafers.  

"I'll see where the day takes me."  He smiled.  "Don't worry, I promised you that I wouldn't slack for the rest of my life and I won't." He kissed her.  "Trust me?"

Daria smiled and hugged him. "I trust you.  Have a good day."  She left for class hoping that tomorrow would be the day that he got ambition.

Trent toyed with the idea of eating breakfast out, but he decided on a bowl of Fruit Loops instead.  He watched SportsCenter and crunched.  Joyce sat with him on the sofa, kneading his thigh.  At nine, when Judge Mathis came on, Trent decided to take on the world.

His finances were a bit of a mystery to him.  Somehow in the break up of Mystik Spiral, he ended up with custody of the Tank.  He started it up and drove to his local branch.  Trent's usual banking transaction involved taking out one twenty from the ATM.  He wanted to buy Daria a present, mostly to give form to his day, so he got one hundred.  Usually, he'd have to check his balance to determine if there was enough to cover that amount, but he was pretty sure that his direct deposited checks had build up enough that he could comfortably take out a C-note without undue worry.  The machine spit out his receipt and instead of crumpling it up, he glanced at the balance.  There seemed to be a lot of numbers on the paper.  

Puzzled, Trent slid his card back into the machine to try another transaction.  He checked his balance and the same number showed up on the screen.  It seemed improbable, so he went into the branch.  

Trent stood in the lobby, not knowing where to go.  There were the tellers to the left.  That didn't seem right, all they could do was confirm his balance.  On the right were offices in glass cubicles; he didn't think it was right to interrupt the people at work there.  

"Can I help you?" a woman in a blue suit asked him politely.  

Trent was still holding his ATM receipt.  He showed it to her, "I think there's some sort of mistake here.  I was hoping someone could go over this with me." 

The woman gave him a strained smile.  Her assumption was that the man had somehow overdrawn his account, another morning of painstakingly going over each banking transaction until he could understand how he had no money.  She glanced down and gasped.  "I see.  I'll be happy to help you Mr…I'm sorry I didn't get your name."

"Trent Lane.  You can call me Trent."  

"Well I'm Connie.  Come with me and we'll go over this together."  She led him into a glass cubicle and she accessed his account information.  There were a series of electronic deposits.  They started off in the thousands, then moved into the tens of thousands.  Connie had never seen anything like it.  She tried to imagine how a mistake of this magnitude could happen.  The young man sitting in front of her seemed to earnestly want to understand this, and he seemed honest enough to work with her while they corrected this error.  "Mr. Lane, it seems that in February you had a balance of $1486, then you started getting weekly deposits from Condor Corporation.  Is that your employer?"  Connie hoped that the error would be easy to track from there.  At least all the funds came from one source.

"Condor?  Yeah, that's my record label."  Trent peered into the computer screen.  Deposit, deposit, deposit.  Every Friday a deposit was made. At first it was a set amount; that must have been while they were in Miami cutting the record.  Then it started appreciating.  "Wow, is that last number $85,908?"  

Connie checked, "and fifteen cents. Your record label?  Are you a musician?"  She had a whole new respect for him.  Could it be that his balance was correct?  Was she looking at a millionaire?  In _those_ pants? 

"Well, I was.  So that balance is correct?"  He tried to assimilate the information, but it didn't make sense, except that it did when he could see the dollar amounts.

"You would know better than I would Mr. Lane.  Perhaps you might want to review your paystubs.  If you'd like I can print you a copy of your statement."  She smiled at him, then she had a thought.  "We have a large account manager in our branch, her name is Cicely Andrews, would you like to meet her?"  

Trent's thoughts were swirling.  Once he knew that money was coming in it never occurred to him to think beyond his immediate needs.  He had a shitpile of money and he didn't know what to do with it.  "Um, not today.  I've got to be somewhere.  Maybe another time?"  He realized that he needed to talk to someone who knew about money, _his _money.  But Quinn wouldn't be around until later this afternoon.  

Trent walked up the street, still thinking about his present for Daria.  At first he was thinking about some bubble bath.  Now he was thinking about a Mercedes.  He shook his head.  He wasn't ready for that kind of thinking.  He wanted to talk to someone with common sense.  He headed for the pub.  

Kevin sat behind the bar reading.  He was taking the GED test on Saturday and he was following Daria's study schedule.  He looked up at the early bird and saw that it was Trent.  "Hey man!  How are you?"  He nearly leapt over the bar in his excitement.  

"Hey Kevin.  I'm okay.  Got a beer back there for me?"  Trent wanted a drink.  Ten wasn't too soon to start in this neighborhood.

"I made up this new drink, want to try it?"  Kevin pulled half a draught into a tall glass, "it's Red Bull and Beer.  It'll kick your butt!"  

Trent felt like he needed to clear the fog, "okay, I'll try it."

"Great!"  Kevin found a small silver can and emptied it into the beer.  "It goes great with pilsner."  

Trent sipped and screwed up his face.  It didn't taste bad exactly, just strange, but then he started to feel more awake.  "This is really good Kevin."  He sipped some more.

Carol came out of the back with a cigarette and coffee.  "Hey Trent!  How's it going?  Back from your adventures?"  She came out and perched on the stool beside him.

"Yeah, but I don't know what to do now."  He sipped at Kevin's concoction and reveled in being back in familiar surroundings.

"You need a job?"  Carol was always willing to help out a friend.  "I've got Kevin here covering lunches and bartending, but I can always find a place for you."

"No.  I don't need a job…exactly.  I need to figure out what to do with the rest of my life."  He looked around at the pub.  He always liked the environment, all that wood and brass.  The dart games.  The pool table.  The jukebox.  The smell.  Trent had spent his adult life working in bars and pubs, he liked it.  "Maybe I should open a bar or something."  

Carol laughed, "you couldn't run a bar.  You'd get robbed blind.  Besides, you need something that takes care of itself.  If you're in the market for real estate, I've got the perfect thing for you.  A pool hall."  

Trent sat up.  A pool hall.  He thought of "The Hustler", dingy and seedy.  "I don't know Carol, that seems kind of…"

"It's not like that.  It's a nice place.  It's been around forever.  Buddy's place."  She prompted him.

Buddy had been one of Carol's regulars.  Trent remembered the old guy sitting at the bar, eating the special and drinking a lager every evening.  "Buddy's selling his place?"  

Carol nodded, "yeah, poor bastard had cancer.  He fought it to the end.  Died at home in bed.  He asked me to settle the deal for his kids.  They don't live here.  He'd a done the same for me.  Want to see it?"  

Trent finished his drink.  He fingered the receipt in his pocket.  Owning something, having someplace to go every day.  That appealed to him.  "Sure, is it far?"

 Carol looked at him funny, "No, it's across the street."  She pointed.

"Right.  Well, let's go."  

Carol opened the door to the large space.  On the right stood twelve pool tables, with cues and scorekeeping paraphernalia on the walls.  On the left was a snack bar with restaurant seating.  "Here's the joint.  He replaced those tables about a year ago, before he knew he was sick.  He loved the game." She rolled a cue ball into a pocket. "Yeah, I'm pretty handy with a cue if I say so myself."  

Trent looked around.  The wood paneling was warm.  There was a bar in the front of the hall, a Harp sign stood large.  "So he had a liquor license?"  Even Trent knew that a liquor license was an expensive proposition; it might be worth it just to buy the place for that. 

"Nope.  Just beer and wine, but you don't need more than that.  Check out this kitchen."  She showed him that side of the operation.  "You've got a grill, a pizza oven, a fryer.  This Traulson is new.  Both refrigeration and freezer." The stainless steel gleamed. "It's a real shame, this place was starting to pick up before he died.  He was always real smart about business.  He started to get some of the college kids and yuppies in here." 

Trent smiled.  He would own a pool hall.  He didn't know a thing about the snack bar.  "I guess, but what this needs is a TV."  He looked around as though mentally rearranging the furniture to accommodate one.

"He had the place wired for satellite.  What about that over there?"  She pointed to a big screen TV in the corner.  

"Right.  That's cool.  Does everything come with the place?"  Trent had already mentally gone out to buy a recliner.

"Lock, stock and barrel.  I'll make you a good deal.  After all, we're practically family.  I can tell you who he used for his provisioning and everything.  No sense in reinventing the wheel."  Carol lit a Salem and waited for Trent to respond.

"So how much?"  He didn't have any idea at all what a fair price was; he just knew how much of his newly discovered wealth he was willing to part with.

Carol named the price, trying to be calm.  She really did want to help out Buddy's kids.  He was a good guy.  She thought it was a fair price too.  

Trent didn't bat an eye, he just thought about it.  He looked around and saw a pool hall, not sleazy, but nice and upscale.  He'd worry about the kitchen later.  For now, he liked the idea of having a place to come everyday.  

Carol started to worry. Trent didn't seem excited, or to be agreeing.  There weren't that many people that she knew who had the time and money to really run this business.  "It has a living unit upstairs.  Kind of like mine.  Two bedrooms. Want to see it?"

"No.  This is good."  He reached out his hand to shake.  "How do we do this?"

"I'm working with an agent, Marlene, you remember her, right?  Let's go down to her office and we can do the contract right now."  

By one o'clock, Trent had a contract to buy the pool hall.  

***

Within three weeks Trent owned the pool hall.  Before he could open for business he had to get his own business license.  He went to the courthouse and took care of that.  

The girl behind the counter seemed nice.  "So you're assuming this business?"

Trent shrugged, "I guess so."

"You bought it didn't you?"  She snapped her gum.

"Yes."  Trent shuffled his paperwork.

"Okay, so you need a business license, a beer and wine license and a restaurant license.  You'll need to go to room 201B to arrange for a health department inspection before you can open the restaurant."  She totaled up the amount and he wrote a check.

Once he was official, he went to a local furniture store and arranged for a large sectional sofa.  After paying the movers a few bucks, he had a viewing area.  Every morning he'd leave the house and open the pool hall.  Technically he hadn't opened the pool hall, he'd just unlock the door and let himself in.  

Trent wanted to enjoy the space by himself.  Sure, it was as big as a football field, but after months on a bus, there was charm in having an acre to himself.  In the excitement of actually doing a business deal, Trent had forgotten to consult with Quinn.  He still had quite a bit of money, and every Friday more found its way into his account.  He made a mental note to get home by three, so he could speak with her.

Daria was sitting in the dining room, her books and papers spread out across the table.   "Home so early?"  She asked him.  She had been mildly curious as to where he went every day, but with papers due and exams looming, she didn't really have time to ponder the wanderings of her boyfriend.

"Yeah, I want to talk to Quinn about something.  Where is she?"  He looked around, as though Quinn might be hiding in a corner.

"Have you looked in her office?  That's where she is most afternoons."  Daria put a pencil behind her ear and consulted her laptop.  

"Office?" He asked, scratching his head.

"Office.  The place where she works."  Daria looked into Trent's vacant face.  "Go outside, follow the path around the house and there's a door.  Knock on it and she might answer it."  She dismissed him; she had much to write about with the women in Keats's poems.  

Trent ventured out and saw the path.  There a cement staircase led down to a door.  It must have been the basement door.  Funny, it never occurred to him to wonder where exactly Quinn did her work.  He knocked.

He heard rustling and Quinn's voice, she answered but indicated that she was on the phone, "Okay, right, yes, we'll be there to tape on the fifteenth.  They've confirmed that they'll have enough product in to cover 10,000 units.  Right.  So I'll be working with Sara again.  Great!  I like her; she's got great hair.  I'll see you then.  Bye!"  She indicated that he should sit in one of her chairs.  She took the captain's chair behind the desk.  "Hi."  She smiled waiting for Trent to say something.

He looked around.  It was an office.  There was a computer and file cabinets and another desk where an assistant could work. "So you work here?"

Quinn laughed, "Yes, that's why I got the house in the first place.  This is my office.  Gee, you've never been here have you?"  

"No, I guess I haven't," he admitted, feeling slightly guilty.  "I need your help.  Do you have a minute?"

She put away her notes and cleared a space on her desk.  "Sure.  You know I've been expecting you to see me for a while, I guess you just now got around to thinking about your money?"

"So you know about the money?"  He was befuddled, he wondered if she and Daria spoke about it.

"Well, we know that you made some.  I figured you might want some help with investing it, or what kind of account to put it into.  Perhaps you want a referral to my accountant?"  She got a pad of paper and a pen.  "So how can I help you?"

Trent pulled an envelope from his pocket.  He uncrumpled it as best he could. "It's my bank statement."

Quinn sighed, "first of all you've got to have more respect for your finances."  She tried to smooth the mess of papers.

"It's money," he shrugged.

"Right.  It's money.  Money isn't important until you need it.  It's better never to need it."  She studied the papers but it didn't take a business major to see that there were a whole bunch of deposits and only a few withdrawals.  "Trent, there seems to be a...great deal of money here."

Understatement, he didn't think she was capable of it. "Yes.  I was hoping you would tell me what to do with it."

She continued to scrutinize, "wait, what on earth did you do with this?"  She pointed to the money for the pool hall.

"I bought a place," he explained. 

"What place?"

"Buddy's pool hall. It's across from the pub."  He tried to make it sound like something more than the lark that it was, but there was no fooling her.

"First of all, don't spend another dime until you meet with our accountant.  I'll make an appointment and we'll go together.  Secondly, don't tell Daria, she'll have a fit.  Trent, let me level with you.  We thought that you might make a hundred thousand dollars if you were lucky.  We never dreamed that it would be serious, life altering money."  She stared for a minute at the paper.

Trent thought about the fact that Quinn didn't consider one hundred thousand dollars life altering money.  "Why shouldn't I tell Daria?"

"Because she'll worry and she's got a lot to do in the next month or so." Quinn scanned her computer for a number, "Jerry, it's Quinn.  I need you to do me a favor; it's sort of an emergency.  Can you fit a friend in for an extended consultation?  He's come into a significant amount of money and he needs help in managing it.  Just a sec," she turned to Trent, "can you come with me downtown tomorrow morning?"

"Sure."  Trent figured that as a business owner that his time was his own.

"Okay, ten then.  See you then.  Bye!" Quinn hung up, "be here, dressed in a suit and ready to go at nine."  

Trent nodded and seeing that she was ready to return to her work, he left.  He walked back into the house where Joyce was sitting on Daria's notes for 'La Belle Dame Sans Merci'.  Daria was in the kitchen.   

He got a soda out of the fridge and turned on People's Court.  It hadn't occurred to Trent to tell Daria about the money, but it never occurred to him to keep it from her either.  He felt uncomfortable and just wanted a distraction, something to occupy his mind while he was being secretive.  He needn't have bothered.  Daria was too busy studying to think about how Trent spent his days.

***

Jerry Miller looked at the bank statement.  "Okay, so you've made a lot of money.  That I understand.  Good job not going out and blowing it on something stupid."  

Trent smiled. He liked Jerry already.

"Jerry, I think you spoke too soon.  Trent bought a pool hall."  Quinn thought that full disclosure was the way to go. 

"A pool hall?  Where?"  Jerry sorted through Trent's collection of 'important papers' that he was keeping in one of Jane's old art portfolios. 

"Milk Hill." Trent said, naming the newly fashionable section of town that he lived in.

Jerry's eyebrows raised, "Hmm, then it looks like you got it for a song.  Wait, that's not Buddy's place is it?"

Trent really liked him now. "Yeah.  Poor guy passed away a couple of months ago." 

"Really? May he rest in peace.  So you bought Buddy's.  You opening up the restaurant?"  Jerry, rifled through the paperwork some more, as though looking for evidence to support the theory.

"No.  I don't cook."  Trent watched as Jerry organized his finances.

"Well, maybe you'll be able to rent it out.  Looks good.  Trent, before we go any further, I need to know what you want your money to do for you."  Jerry's affability morphed into a businesslike demeanor.

"My money _do_ for me?"  Trent tried to wrap his mind around the concept.

Quinn sighed.  "Trent, you have a significant amount of money.  You need to put it to work."

Trent thought for a minute, "I don't understand."

Jerry laughed, "Thank goodness, if you did, I wouldn't have a job.  Trent were you aware that by keeping your money in a savings account, that it would grow?  Were you aware that if you actually took an interest in your money, and thought about places to invest it that it would grow even faster?  In just four months, you've earned $16,000 in interest alone.  That's without thinking.  Now, I don't advocate keeping this in the bank, for a lot of reasons.  But before we invest, we need to understand your goals.  What would you like this money to do for you?"

Trent had never thought that he'd have enough money, now he had more than plenty.  It was like that tribe, they didn't need to quantify any number above three, so their counting system was, _one, two, three, more than three_.  In his world there was only _not enough_ and _enough_. Now he had _more than enough_.  "I guess pay for Jane's school.  Pay for Daria's if she needs it.  All I need is a roof over my head, clothes to wear, gas for the tank and food."  

Jerry considered this as he wrote it down.  "Okay, so you want to work out a gift trust so that you can give the money for school without having the girls worry about paying taxes on it.  You also want enough to live on.  Tell me about the roof over your head."

Trent nodded, "we live in Quinn's house.  We watch the cat and we don't pay rent.  But...I think the realtor mentioned something about a living unit over the pool hall.  So I guess if we had too, we could live there."  

Quinn smacked her hand against her head.

"Is that the kind of place you'd _want_ to live?" Jerry never lost his patience.  He would much rather deal with this all up front, rather than meet people after they had pissed away everything. 

"I guess we'd want to have a house like we live in now.  But I don't think we have to think about that for a while." Trent consulted Quinn.

"I have a lease with an option to buy through the next four years.  We can discuss it then.  I'll be out of school, so you might want to exercise that option."  Quinn gave the information.

Jerry wrote it down.  "Okay, so you don't have an immediate need for changing your living arrangements.  What about transportation?"

"I have a van, The Tank.  It's paid for."  Trent offered.

"Right, that would be the 2001 Aerostar?"  Jerry held the pink slip.

"Yes."  Trent glanced at it, although he had seen it before.

"Is that the vehicle you'd like to keep driving?  No luxury cars?"  Jerry wanted to make sure that Trent understood that he had options.

"I like the van.  It's comfortable and we can get all of us in it if we want to go somewhere." Trent was proud of the new Tank.

"So you'll keep it for a few years then?"  Jerry made another note as Trent nodded his agreement. "Is there anything you want to do or buy that I need to know about?" 

"No.  I think I'm happy just to be home now. I guess what I want is to know that I'll always have enough money to live.  If the pool hall doesn't work out, and if I don't feel like working for a living, I don't want to worry about money.  I don't have to live like Madonna, I just want to be comfortable.  Does that make sense?"  Trent hoped that the accountant understood.

"Perfect sense.  I'll call your lawyer and he can tell me what to expect from Condor.  Then I'll start working with your assets.  We'll protect them, and invest them and you'll get a monthly draw. About how much do you need to live comfortably?"  Jerry was filling out a form for Trent to sign.

Trent shook his head. "I have no idea.  Let's start with two-thousand a month."

Jerry laughed.  "Let's start with three.  Also, I'd like to make some money available to you for emergencies.  For the business."  He passed the paper to Trent to sign.

Trent looked it over and Quinn peered over his shoulder.  "This doesn't seem very complicated."

Jerry laughed, "No, I'm not a complicated guy.  You pay me a monthly fee; I take care of your money.  There's not really much more to it then that."

Quinn patted his wrist, "Jerry's been an accountant for years.  He's got tons of reliable references," she nodded knowingly, "you can trust him."

That was good enough for Trent.  He signed.

***

Trent lay on the sofa of the pool hall.  'The Price is Right' was on.  A tall, leggy blonde was pointing to a Chevy as a woman jumped up and down.  The bell on the door rang and a head poked in.

"Hey, are you open?"  The young man asked.

Trent was confused.  Technically he was open, but he wasn't really running it as a business.  "Why? Want to shoot some pool?"

The kid shook his head, "No.  Actually I just want to watch 'The Price is Right'.  I usually miss it because I've got a late morning class."

"Sure, come on in."  Trent motioned to space on the couch.

The kid came in and sat down.  About ten minutes later two girls came in.  "Are you open?"

Trent looked up.  They were obviously students, carrying backpacks and wearing Raft sweatshirts.  "You want to shoot pool?"

They looked at each other.  "Can we watch TV with you?" The blonde asked.

Trent shrugged, "Sure."

"We'd love a cup of coffee.  Do you sell coffee?"  They set down their gear and settled into the couch.

Trent thought about it.  He went to the kitchen.  There was a Bunn O'Matic on the counter.  He shuffled through some more stuff and found coffee in individual serving packets.  He put on a pot to brew.  There was sugar and sweetener on the tables, but no milk.  He went across the street to the Pub and bought a quart of cream from Carol.  Trent was in business.

***

Every day students would gather at the pool hall.  Trent found that he could sell coffee and sodas as they watched TV.  At first they tried to democratically decide what to watch, but Trent put a stop to that by writing a list of his viewing schedule on a whiteboard that he displayed next to the television.  He liked the company, but he didn't really know how to build the business from where it was.

He put two small signs in the window. _Restaurant for Rent_. _Apartment for Rent_. Trent thought that by renting out the space he wasn't using, that he could have some money coming in.  Show Jerry and Quinn that this was a real business, not a hobby.

A dark woman came in about a week later, accompanied by what appeared to be her young, beautiful daughters.  

"Sir, we want to know how much you want for the restaurant _and_ for the apartment."  She spoke in halting English.  

Trent hadn't really thought that one out.  He figured six hundred a month for the apartment was fair.  After all, Buddy's furniture was still there.  He had no idea how much to rent the restaurant for, but seven hundred seemed fair.  "Well, I was going to rent them both for thirteen hundred a month..."  

The woman smiled, "Sir, we have saved up one thousand.   If you will take that, and trust us for the rest, we will take both."

Trent had the weird feeling that he was being taken, but considering that he really didn't have any better offers, and that the women seemed nice, he decided to go ahead with it.  "Okay."

"Did you want us to sign a lease?  An agreement?"  The woman seemed confused.

"No.  I trust you.  So what kind of restaurant are you opening?"  Trent motioned for them to look at the set up.

"Brazilian. We're from Brasilia."  She looked around the kitchen and smiled, "So clean!"

"Yeah, the health department came by and told me what needed to be done.  That's a new vent over the fryer."  He pointed. "You want to see the apartment?  It's furnished."

The girls giggled and nodded and they walked up the backstairs to the living unit.  Buddy had left behind some truly ugly furniture, but it was clean and serviceable. Brown herculon, heavy Mediterranean woods punctuated by 'Dogs Playing Poker'.

The woman looked a bit concerned, "May we move our own furniture in here?"

Trent shrugged, "Suit yourself.  So it's a deal?"  The woman handed him the money and he handed her a key.  "I'll have a sign made for you, what do you want to call your place?"

The younger of the girls spoke up, "Brasilia."  She said it with pride.

Trent wished them well and wandered back to the group watching television. 

"Hey Trent, are they opening up a restaurant here?"  Laura, the blonde asked.

"Yeah, a Brazilian place."  He settled back for the Showcase Showdown.

"What's Brazilian food like?" Laura's friend Nicole asked.

"I don't know, but it's got to be better than the peanut butter I've been eating." All the heads nodded in agreement.  There had been way too much peanut butter.

***

Quinn had stopped by to see the pool hall.  Naturally she has assumed that it would be dank, smoke filled and patronized by old guys and their cigars.  She was pleasantly surprised by the lunch crowd.  Young Brazilians chatting on cell phones and digging into impossibly huge plates of food.

Trent was eating some frango, rice and greens at a table by the window.  He motioned her to come over.  "Have some lunch.  It's great.  Mislene!  Get a special for Quinn here."  The girl came over with a plate for Quinn.  She put down an icy cold glass of pineapple juice as well. 

Quinn stared at the plate.  It was much too much, but she forked some up and tasted it.  "Oh my gosh!  That's amazing.  What is it?"  She tasted the greens with the rice.

"I don't know.  Something with coconut milk and beer.  It could be heroin the way people keep coming back here."  He ate another forkful.  

"So you've packed the place?"  Quinn noticed a healthy number of people spread around.

"Yeah, it's weird.  I just started with the TV and it grew from there."  

"So how much are you making?" Quinn got right to the point.

"I get thirteen hundred for the restaurant and the apartment."  He was proud of his arrangement.

"What!?!"  Quinn nearly knocked over her juice. "I thought you weren't going to make any other decisions without talking them over."  

"Hey, I wasn't using that stuff, why not let them make something of it?"  Trent thought that it was perfectly reasonable.

"You got taken.  A restaurant in this area gets five times that rent.  I don't even want to discuss the apartment." She shook her head, "Really Trent.  I suppose they have a lease?"

"No.  I didn't want to bother."  He held up his empty glass and indicated that he wanted a refill.

"Good, so you can get them to pay more."  Quinn smiled and sipped her juice.

"No. I like them. They give me lunch everyday and they bring a lot of people into the place.  It makes it seem profitable."  

"Yeah Trent. Profitable for them.  Look, it's your place.  If you want to run it that way, then fine, that's your business.  But you should know that they are taking advantage of you."  Quinn flipped her hair, like she usually did when she wanted to make a point.

"So what?  I can afford it.  Besides, they needed the help." Mislene showed up to fill up his glass.

"Trent, just because you've got a lot of money doesn't mean that you shouldn't take this pool hall seriously as a business.  You could make a nice living with this arrangement.  This is an upscale crowd.  You could do tournaments, have leagues all kinds of things.  The money in the bar alone should be amazing.  If you're running a business, then you need to run it.  If you are just hanging out here, then rent out the rest of it and stop playing at it.  This place is a goldmine!"  Quinn looked respectfully at the people laughing and enjoying the pool hall. 

Trent shook his head, "I don't know.  I wasn't brought up to think about money like that.  I just like the place."

"Well snap out of it or you'll have your head handed to you.  Money isn't evil or dirty.  Money is just a medium of exchange.  You used your creative energy and in exchange you got a lot of money.  You used your money and got this place in exchange.  Keep the circle going, let people enjoy your place and in exchange, get some of their money.  They expect it."  Quinn pushed away her plate, "That was great; and to show my appreciation, I'm going to pay for it."  She took a ten out of her handbag and put it on the table. "Keep the circle going Trent.  I've got an appointment, I'll see you later."

Trent needed advice and there was one person he knew who would give it to him straight.

"Hello, Daria?"  

"Trent, I'm really tied up right now.  Is it important? Does it involve bleeding?"  Daria was typing her last thought as she distractedly spoke to Trent.

"No."  Trent admitted.

"Trent, I have one hour to finish and print this paper, and I think my ink cartridge just gave up the ghost.  Seriously, unless you are in the emergency room, I'll talk to you later."  She dropped the phone.

"I love you." Trent said into the receiver and hung up. Trent realized that he had two people who wouldn't bullshit him about his choices.  But this one would be more embarrassing.  He dialed the number, "Jane?  Is that you?"

***

Jane surveyed the pool hall.  She noticed that it was full of people, all having a good time.  "Well, you sure have been lucky lately."

"Luck?  I thought I was being a business man."  Trent defended his place.

"Let's recap the events leading up to this.  You managed a short but lucrative career in Latin American music.  You bought the first place you looked at, without ever considering any other options.  You rented two highly prized spaces out for pocket change and yet, this business appears to be thriving.  Oh wait, it's the other business that's thriving.  Your part of the business is a bunch of college students watching Jerry Springer.  How exactly do they pay for that Trent?"  Jane sat down at one of the tables.

Trent thought about it. "I've got the beer and wine, plus the pool table rental."

Jane huffed, "and you've got the jukebox and condom machine.  Seriously Trent, other than a desire for someplace to go during the day, why exactly did you buy this place?"

Trent thought, "I guess the only other thing besides music I ever saw myself doing was running a business.  This seemed pretty easy."

Jane smiled, "When did you get so lazy? And stupid?  Running a business isn't easy.  It's hard work.  You're responsible for everything.  You're paying utilities, insurance, permits all kinds of overhead."

"How do you know about that stuff?"  

"Trent, EVERYONE knows about that stuff.  A business is more than just rent.  I'll guess that the thirteen hundred that those ladies pay just barely covers your expenses.  If you're honest, you'll admit that you're just breaking even here."  Jane ordered a cappuccino and faced her brother.

Trent shuffled his feet. "You're right, but is that so bad?"

Jane tapped her foot in annoyance, "Yes.  When exactly were you planning to take this seriously?  Ever since you graduated from high school, it's like you let the wind take you.  You haven't made more than three decisions in the past seven years.  You let other people bully you, or influence you into doing something.  You haven't exerted your will, or stood up for yourself in any significant situation in years."

It was true.  Trent had given up at some point, and he had no direction in his life.  "So what should I do?"

Jane took in the whole enterprise, "Surprisingly this could actually be something decent.  You've got the people in here, get them to stay after dinner for some pool.  Advertise something.  Poker, darts, something cool.  Sell more beer. That means of course that you'll have to do more than decide what's on television.  You'll have to work in this place.  You'll have to be creative."

Trent sighed.  He didn't want to work.  He really did only want to hang out, to treat it like his private clubhouse.  "I don't want a job."

"Then why did you buy this place?  Even YOU must have known that it would require work of some sort."  

"Actually, I wasn't really thinking.  I should have just rented an apartment.  But it was cool owning all of this.  Thinking of the possibilities.  You know, it could be really great." Trent smiled; it really was coming along.

"Trent, that's childish.  You have to stop being a child.  Do you want to run this place?"  Jane leaned over, whispering it, over the din of the early, evening crowd.

Trent searched his heart.  "No.  I don't." He thought for a moment, "Do you want to run it?"

Jane sat back. "NO!"

"Are you sure?"  Trent thought he saw a flicker of interest.  "How about the evening shift?  Five to Eleven? I'll make it worth your while."

Jane considered, "Okay, but I only work four nights a week.  I'll get some of my friends from school for the other times.  But you have to be there, make decisions.  You're the boss; I'm just covering the night shift."

"Fine.  You do what you think needs to be done."  Trent sat back.

"No. I'll recommend what needs to be done and you'll do it...Boss."  Jane smiled and extended her hand.  

"Ew!" Trent replied.


	27. Career Day

**Career Day**

**By Ruthless Bunny**

Helen Morgendorffer pulled into her parking space and began to unload her day's worth of luggage from her truck.  Being a lawyer had always required a certain amount of baggage, but between her laptop, PDA, files and other assorted effluvia, Helen estimated that her load might weigh forty pounds.  "Am I getting older or is this stuff getting heavier?" she sighed to herself as she walked into the office.

She glanced at the reception desk and again sighed.  She was still here.  Today she was wearing a blue sundress, and although to the naked eye, her appearance was flawless, Tiffany studied herself in the mirror, as though trying to determine if the telephone headset made her head look fat.  The phone rang, and with an amazing lack of urgency it was answered in the now typically lackadaisical fashion, "Vitale....Davis....Horowitz.....Riordan.....Schrecter....Schrecter....Schrecter....and... Mor—gan—dor—ff--er...."

Helen arrived at her office before the last syllable ended.  She had wanted to work on her brief before the partner's meeting.  Helen had made partner the previous year, and while it was the culmination of her professional aspirations, she found it to be anti-climactic.  Sort of like climbing to the top of Everest only to find that it was too cloudy to enjoy the view.  All that work, and nothing to show for it except thin air and exhaustion. 

At the appointed time Helen filled her mug with tea and met the partners in the conference room.  Rumors had been flying about a merge with a rival firm from the Beltway, but considering their client list and the notoriety of the other firm, Helen had discounted that early on. 

Eric stood at the head of the table.  As managing partner he swung the gavel at their monthly meeting.  "Folks, come on in and let's get started, I have some fabulous news." He gestured with the gavel to close the door as the last to arrive slid into his chair.  "I'd like to dispense with our usual agenda," he looked around for an objection, but there was none, "Great.  There has been some scuttlebutt around that Chase-Manning might want us to merge with them."  He paused dramatically as heads bobbed, "Well, it's true, we've been tendered an offer.  Now, as partners in this firm we have options.  We, as a group can decide to accept their offer, and possibly positions in their firm.  We can reject their offer and continue as we are, or we can individually decide to sell our shares."  He glanced again at his team.  "Many of you have been with us for over fifteen years, some are relative newcomers to the firm.  All of you have done amazing work.  I'd like to open the floor to discussion."

Helen doodled on her yellow pad as the partners debated enough to make it seem as though due diligence were being done.  What it was, in fact, was a love-fest.  Chase-Manning was the firm that turned them all down right out of law school.  It was old, prestigious and for many of them, the dream of a lifetime. Helen wondered what it might mean for her personally. 

Quinn tried to position herself for the best reception as Mike explained what he needed.  "Can you come to the draft?"  Quinn stared at her phone, "Draft?"  Was he asking her to a keg party? 

Mike's voice echoed annoyance, "the Hockey draft, it's a big deal on ESPN, it's where I'll find out where I'm playing." 

Quinn smiled, a date, on television.  Opportunity. "Of course Mike, I can come, it's next week right?  Where is it?" 

"Phoenix."

"Say that again, it sounded like you said Phoenix."  Quinn pulled her coat up around her ears against March winds.

"I did.  Pack a bikini Princess, it's going to be hot, hot, hot.  I'll e-mail you with the details, can you get a few days off from school?" 

"No problem, I'll work something out."  She ended the call and smiled.  A few days in the sun would do her wonders.

_Stacked Like Me_

_By Daria Morgendorffer_

_I often wonder how I get myself into these messes.  One minute I'm in class, reading about investigative journalism and the women's movement, and the next I'm in my local Hooters applying for a job.  This is especially odd considering that I don't go to the beach because I'd have to expose my neck. _

_So how does a modest, quiet, young woman come to work in a place where it's normal to ask if you'd like some fried pickles?  Basically I wanted to see how much had changed since Gloria Steinem had written her book, A Bunny's Tale, about her work as a Playboy Club Cocktail Waitress.  Since the last of the Playboy Clubs had closed while I was still losing my baby teeth, I had to find a quick substitute, and voila, here I am at Hooters._

_I think everyone has preconceptions about Hooters.  I made a list, mostly while I was still trying to decide if I was even going to write this article.  Here's what I came up with:_

_Hooters girls are bimbos.  _ _I'm not going to fill out the outfit._ _Men will not treat me with respect when I am wearing orange shorts with pantyhose._ _At least waitressing is easy._ _The money should be great._

_Frankly, I thought about how I would be getting paid twice.  First for the article and secondly my hourly wage, and I filled out an application on-line.  _

_I was called a few days later and I went in for the interview.  What does one wear to a "Hooters Girl" interview?  A suit and heels might be too much. Jeans and T-shirt would be too informal.  I'm not big on fashion anyway, so I consulted a professional.  I called my sister._

_Sis:  "So you're going for an interview at Hooters?"  _

_Me:  "Yes, what should I wear?"_

_Sis:  "You're interviewing at Hooters?"_

_Me:  "Yes, should I wear a skirt?"_

_Sis:  "Interviewing at Hooters?"_

_Me:  "Is it too much for me to wear one of their T-shirts?"_

_Sis:  "And if you get the job you'll work at Hooters?"_

_Me:   "I hope so.  So what do you think, denim and a sweater?"_

_Sis:   "Hooters?"_

_We went on like this for nearly an hour, but when I left the house I was wearing a white denim skirt, an orange sweater-set and a pair of pristine white sneakers.  I looked the part, now I just had to channel my inner-Hooters girl and I'd be all set._

_If you know me, you would say that getting the bouncy, happy personality would be my biggest challenge.  I'm not what you would call...perky.  I'm more the dour-type.  Imagine Jeannine Garafalo asking, "Would you like fries with that?" and you've got a pretty good idea of how I come across.  So for the sake of the story I practiced my smile.  I smiled for hours a day, trying to capture the right attitude.  I needn't have worried._

_I walked into my neighborhood Hooters between lunch and happy hour.  The Hooters Girls, and there were plenty of them, were taking care of their stations.  Filling salt shakers, cleaning, making iced tea, everyone was in motion.   I went upstairs with the manager and he went over my application._

_"So I see here that you're a student.  Yeah, we get a lot of college girls here.  What's your major?"  He shuffled the papers a bit and clicked his pen._

_"English."  I smiled at him._

_"Oh?  Going to be a teacher?"  He scribbled to get the ink going._

_"Yes." I figured the path of least resistance was the way to go._

_"Can you work a lunch shift?"  He jumped right to what he wanted to know._

_"What are the hours?"_

_"You come in at ten to open, and you stay until three to set up for happy hour."  He leaned forward, his hope was palpable._

_"I can do it on Tuesdays and Thursdays.  Can I get a Friday or a Saturday night?"  I thought it sounded like something a savvy future-waitress might ask._

_He chewed his lip for a minute, "I can give you Fridays if you can do a Sunday lunch."  _

_We were negotiating, "Okay. I guess I can do that."  I waited.  I knew what was coming next. The uniform.  _

_"Okay, so I can give you about 20 to 24 hours a week, is that good?"  He continued as I nodded.  "This is just a formality, but we have our Hooters Girls try on the uniform.  It's okay if you have tattoos, you'll just have to cover them up if you do."  I didn't have time to deal with the idea that this guy thought I had a tattoo, I was too busy being terrified of the uniform. He handed me a fresh one out of a plastic bag and indicated that I should change into it in the locker room just off of his office._

_I wandered in and the women who had previously been downstairs setting up for the next shift were now changing into their street clothes.  I realize that for most men (and some women) that I had just stumbled into fantasy, but for me, it was a nightmare.  You know the one, you've gone into class for a test you didn't study for and you're naked.  _

_I guess I looked pretty pathetic; one of the girls came over to help me.  "Hi, I'm Janet."_

_"Hi, I'm petrified."  I smiled my smile, but I think it came off as a grimace._

_She laughed, "This is nothing, you wear a bathing suit right?"_

_"No." _

_"You're funny.  Come on, we'll help you with it."  She stood, waiting for me to strip off my street clothes.  "It gets easier, I promise.  You must need this job something terrible."_

_"Something terrible," I agreed.  Somehow I managed to get down to my underwear, including the suntan pantyhose.  I wrestled the outfit on.  The girls came over to see if they could help me tweak it into shape.  In the full-length mirror I could see that over the pantyhose that the shorts fit just fine; that is to say that they were short and tight.  The tank top was another story.  It covered me, but I seemed to be missing the 'va-va-va-voom' the other girls had.  Janet came up behind me.  I could feel her doing something back there, and suddenly I was like everyone else.  I had a rack.  The girls were large and in charge._

_"What did you do?"  I asked, staring at myself in disbelief._

_She turned me around, "I tied it in a knot.  We all do it.  So?"_

_They all waited for me to say something.  Something nice I was guessing.  "Uh, I guess it fits."  _

_"Okay, so go show Travis, sign your W-2 and then come with us.  We're going to get smoothies."  A girl I later learned was Kira suggested._

_I smiled my smile again.  "Okay."_

_In five minutes I was officially a Hooters Girl, and on my way to have a smoothie._

Jake stirred the ice in the glass pitcher, "Don't want to bruise the gin, just a drop of vermouth, I'm in a dirty mood," he put a teaspoon of olive juice in the concoction, "now for the glass."  He poured the martini into the glass and sipped. "Oh MAN! Now that's a martini!" 

Helen came through the door, confusing Jake, it was still light outside.  "Got one of those for me?"  She threw her briefcase towards the stairs and flopped on the sofa, kicking off her heels in the process.

Jake gave her his cocktail and began twirling an ice cube in his own glass.  "Drink that, there's plenty more where that come from."

Helen tasted it and sat up, "Jake, this is perfect!"

He beamed, "It's a new gin, the guy at the liquor store recommended it.  I've got a chicken in the oven.  Free range!"

Helen noticed the enticing aroma.  "Jake, it's so nice to come home to you."  She smiled and sipped her drink, fiddling with the olive.

Jake sat next to her and gave her a peck on the cheek.  "Helen, I have excellent news."

"I have news too.  But tell me yours first, I'm not so sure mine is excellent."

"I ran into Bob across the street.  They're moving."  He smiled wide.

"But you like Bob, isn't he in your golf foursome?"

"Sure, and I'll miss him for that, but guess what he sold for?  Go on.  Guess!"  Jake was in one of his manic moods.

Helen had learned to surf the wave, you never knew when it might crash. She shrugged, "I don't know, somewhere around two-fifty?"  The martini had loosened the knot of tension between her shoulder blades.

"Not even close, over four-hundred."  He waited.

"You're joking!  He's only got three bedrooms."  Helen's interest was piqued.

"I know!  This neighborhood is popular.  It's that new school they built.  Not only that, but with that train extension happening next year, everyone from D.C. is looking to escape to the next bedroom community for the Nation's capital.  I have an idea!"  Jake was bursting with excitement.

"I'm getting an idea too.  But I want to hear yours first."  Helen held her glass out for a refill.

"Okay, we sell the house, and use the profit to buy a place free and clear."  Jake nearly bounced as he poured.

"But where would we buy a place around here for cash?" 

"We don't buy one here.  We move to....Las Vegas!"  He sprung onto the sofa next to her.  "I'll learn to deal blackjack, you can do...whatever you want! We won't need all that much to live out there.  It's early retirement!  Golf three times a week, all year long!"

"Early retirement.  Jake are you out of your mind?"  Helen sat up, here she'd have to be the voice of reason again.  Sometimes it was hard being the grown up in their relationship.

"No!  I thought you'd think that, but I'm not.  Here is a listing of new housing in Las Vegas.  I figure I could clear enough to cover our expenses, there's good money in blackjack.  You could get a job too if you like.  Cocktail waitress, cosmetics lady, I don't know, whatever you want."  He thrust the information he had been collecting in front of her.

She looked at it briefly, "But Jake, we're not set up for early retirement."

"Well, not the way we had talked about it, but think about this.  We get jobs that have no stress associated with them.  No late nights on the phone with _Eric_.  No going over stuff night after night.  Just a nine to five a few days a week, and unlimited sunshine.  Come on Helen, I know why we can't, just think of some reasons we should!"  He looked like a Labrador Retriever, all eyes and grin.

Helen thought, maybe she was dismissing the idea too soon.  "Jake, I could get bought out of the firm.  We're merging.  We'll actually have quite a nest egg.  Enough to cover the girls' school.  If we really could get four hundred for our place..."

"We can list for five.  I spoke to Phil; my buddy at Fox Realty.  We've got lots of square footage, and our lot is better than Bob's.  He's sending over an agent to evaluate the house, so we can get top dollar.  Come on Helen, you moved to Texas for me, I moved to Maryland for you, lets do something for the both of us!"  The timer dinged, "You've got ten minutes, I'm putting on the spinach."

Helen walked upstairs to change out of her suit.  Early retirement, doing exactly what she wanted everyday.  Even working for Legal Aid, something she dreamed about in Law School, but was denied due to her heavy student loans.  Depending on the offer, Helen could be warm and happy.  It was like winning the lottery.

Quinn rubbed the sunscreen into her skin.  Redheads had to be careful.  She used sunscreen as moisturizer, she thought about adding skin care to her line of products.  Something scented.  Except she really liked the way that L'air Du Temps smelled, and she didn't think that they would be all that interested in a co-marketing agreement with her. 

There was a knock at the door.  "You ready princess?  The party has already started."

"Just a minute."  She slipped the cotton dress over her head, careful not to muss her hair.  She opened the door and turned around.  "Do me up, please." She pointed to the buttons up the back.

Mike stepped into the room.  "So what would you have done if I weren't here to finish dressing you?"

"Don't be silly, I'd only wear this dress for you."  She held her hair up off of her neck so he could do the top button. "I'll be ready in just a minute."  She slid into her sandals and smoothed the skirt.  She looked fresh and cool, perfect for the desert heat.

"You're not getting any ideas are you?"  Mike's golf shirt and khaki's were perfectly pressed.  Together they looked like the cover of a magazine.

"I'm always getting ideas, but don't get a swelled head about it.  They don't all involve you."  Quinn put a hankie and a lipstick into her straw handbag.  "Okay, I'm ready." 

"Well, you certainly look the part.  Any guy would be proud to have you for a girlfriend."  He admired her as she walked out the door.

Quinn smiled, perhaps he was weakening, but she took nothing for granted.  "Well, for right now, you're as much boyfriend as I want.  Let's go schmooze."  She smiled and took his arm.

The resort was vast, with over a thousand rooms spread out over acres of native and not native landscaping.  The golf course, with its green grass, contrasted with the brown of the desert.  Lizards darted around the irrigation holes, lapping up the last few drops of moisture.  The sky was streaked in rust, orange, purple and pink.  The saguaros created a dark silhouette against the bright sky.

"Wow, this is so beautiful." Quinn admired the view.  "I'm so glad they didn't do this up north.  I had forgotten how pretty the Southwest could be." 

"This is nice.  I'd still like to play in Boston though."  Mike pointed towards the party around the pool.  "Of course, I think I could get used to a place where I can swim in April without needing bear grease."  He regarded his date's disgusted look.  "You know, to keep you warm."

"Gross.  You could have said wet suit."  Quinn wrinkled up her nose.

"Right, but bear grease is more manly."  Mike grabbed a beer from a tub manned by a girl in a bikini.

"If you say so.  Is there any soda around here?" Quinn wandered towards the bar.

"Quinn, whatever you want, I'm sure you'll find it."  Mike went over to his agent, leaving Quinn to order her own drink.

"You don't know how right you are."

_My first day I was petrified.  I arrived for work and changed into my Hooters uniform.  Only my desire not to be late for training kept me from hiding in my locker until the end of my shift.  Janet was assigned to show me the ropes.  The sound system was tuned to an upbeat mix and the televisions projected soundless sports images.  I was given a short run-down by my trainer._

_"Okay, every day the floor manager updates the card," she showed me a laminated task card, with the names of each girl written next to the chore in grease pencil, "I'm in charge of making iced tea.  You're in charge of condiments and changing the paper towels on the tables.  The towels are kept at each of the drink stations.  If you start to get low, tell Marlie, the hostess, she'll take care of it from there.  Today you'll shadow me and help me, tomorrow we'll give you a small section and by the end of the week, you'll be good to go.  Okay?"  She looked me in the eyes._

_"Yeah, I guess."  I was still intimidated.  _

_"Hey, it's hard work, but you'll get the hang of it.  Now, the most important thing is to be friendly to the customers.  You can screw up everyone's order, but if they like you, they won't be too angry with you.  Smile a lot.  You've been here before, so you probably know the drill.  When you approach the table, smile and greet everyone.  The people here are here to have a good time, so if they play with you, play back."_

_"But what if they get out of line?"  Trust me to accentuate the negative._

_"That hardly ever happens.  Most of our customers are people who like good wings and pretty girls.  Sometimes someone gets too drunk, or is just obnoxious, you don't have to put up with it.  Mention it to the manager on duty and he or she will take care of it.  I've only seen one guy escorted out, and it happened really fast." Janet was setting up the tea machine and talking to me at the same time.  "So, after you've greeted everyone, take their drink orders.  Most people come here knowing what they want, but give them time to study the menu.  Offer an appetizer.  We're pushing the new fried pickles, if you can sell twenty orders a shift you'll win a pair of shorts.  Oh, and speaking of contests, here's today's scavenger hunt."  Janet handed me a piece of paper._

_I studied it, thinking that it was work related.  It was a list of attributes such as:_

_Wearing a company ID._ _Has a beard._ _Blue socks._ _Bald._ _Redhead._ _Long red nails._

_"So what's this?"  I was puzzled._

_"It's a scavenger hunt.  When you see a customer who's on the list, you mark it off.  The first one to get a complete list wins.  I think it's a new shirt."  Janet had got the tea going and started to show me which tables needed new paper towels.  _

_"So I can win multiple uniforms?"  It intrigued me.  I was making $2.35 per hour, plus tips, they provided me with one uniform.  I didn't really want to spend that hard-earned money on uniforms.  Having more than one would allow me the luxury of not washing every night.  _

_"Right.  Most all of us have plenty of uniforms, but it's fun, plus you really get to notice the customers, which I think is the major point."  For two hours we checked each table's compliment of hot sauce, ketchup, salt, pepper and paper towels.  We neatened the menus, in general tidied everything up.  "They are fanatical about everyone working their entire shift.  No one should ever be idle," she rolled her eyes, "if there's time to lean, there's time to clean."_

_"Tell me they don't say that."  I couldn't believe it; it was too corny._

_"They do.  Besides, if you're busy, the shift goes by faster. I've worked here and I've worked at Denny's.  It's the same job, but the tips here are much better.  Okay, the doors are open and the early birds are here.  Put on the happy face and let's go to work!"_

What followed was the fastest, scariest most hectic four hours of my life.  We took orders, refilled drinks and pushed fried pickles.  One thing that became completely apparent to me is that not everyone has a head for waitressing.  You might think that taking orders and serving food is easy.  Try doing it and tell me that it is.  I never gave it any thought before, but now I have a whole new appreciation for the craft.  It's a whole gestalt.  It's not just about taking the order.  It's not just about making the human contact.  It's not just about managing everyone's food and timing everything so that the pace is fast enough for the average lunch hour, but not so rushed that the customer feels unwelcome.  You also have to anticipate the needs of people.  Who wants extra dressing?  Who only needs a nudge to get the fries?  How do you help that woman who's trying to decide between the salad she thinks she should have and the wings she really wants?  Not only that but can you do all of this while guys are ogling your goodies? 

_What I found the most frightening about my first day is that once I got the rhythm, I fell right into the job.  Oh, and I won the pickle contest. _

The realtor looked around the house and checked some things off on her clipboard.  "Well, Jake, Helen, it looks really good.  The average house lasts about fourteen days on the market in this area; this particular neighborhood is very popular.  We've had three sales here in the past month."  She fingered a nick in the wallboard. 

"Really?  That's impressive.  So what do you think our asking price should be?"  Helen looked around her home trying to see it through a buyer's eyes. 

"Well...I can't really decide that for you.  I can give you a listing of comps...comprehensives.  What the last few houses sold for." She handed the list over to an eager Jake and Helen.

"Holy Cow!  Helen, look at this, that dump with the crabgrass went for five-fifty.  Isn't that the same model as ours?"  Jake pointed out the listing to his wife.

"Yes, except we have a premium lot.  I guess we'll ask for six.  Wow.  That's nearly a 200% profit.  That can be right."  Helen shook her head.

Renee, the realtor laughed.  "It's a seller's market.  But even so, I have some suggestions for you.  First of all, pack up all of you personal stuff.  Pictures, books, anything that might distract a buyer from the house.  Secondly, have a yard sale before your first open house.  Get rid of all the stuff that's cluttering up your space.  Dusty plants, old dishes, clothing you no longer need, sell it or donate it.  People look in closets and cabinets, so they should be on display.  Everything should always be neat and tidy; you never know when you'll have a showing.  The pink bedroom upstairs, the one that belonged to the teenager, that's got to be completely gutted.  Get down all those posters and pom-poms; the stuffed animals have got to go.  Get a painter in here to touch up the walls, also, any wall that isn't beige, should be.  The carpet is fine.  I'll give you two weeks to take care of everything and then we'll list it.  Let's do the paperwork, and I'll get out of your hair." 

Twenty minutes later, her Jaguar backed out of the driveway.  "Jake, did we just agree to sell our house."

"Yeah!  And for a pile of money.  Why?  Are you having second thoughts?"  Jake rubbed her shoulders.

"No.  I definitely want to make a change.  But it's such a big change.  What if something happens?  Remember how my aunt and uncle were ready to retire, but couldn't?"  Helen patted his hands as he kneaded her muscles.

"Well, nothing is guaranteed.  We're putting cash into our house, not Enron.  The rest of the money is going into good, solid investments.  We're going to work.  Helen, our whole lives we've chased some weird notion of success.  Bigger house, better cars, paying off debt.  Everything we did was oriented toward something material.  Maybe you're so tense because for the first time since we were in college, we're doing what we want to do.  Does it frighten you that we're about to realize our true dream?  We owe nothing.  We're free and clear.  We're free."  Jake smiled, and Helen saw the man she married for the first time in decades.

"You know what Jake?  I shouldn't worry.  You are on top of the situation.  I know it will be  fine.  You know what?  We'll hire people to clean and paint next week.   Let's go to Las Vegas.  Let's find our new house. Right now.  You make the arrangements, I'll start packing."  She kissed him on the forehead.

"Now that's what I'm talking about.  By midnight Pacific time, we'll be having cocktails at the blackjack table in one of the finest casino's on the strip."  He reached for the phone.  "

Quinn yawned.  The draft had barely started and already she was bored beyond belief.  It didn't help anything that she had stayed up late the night before, working the room.  Not so much because anyone there could do anything for her, mostly just to keep in practice.  Mike looked at the list.  He knew that he had a good chance for going in the first round.  Boston was his first choice; anyplace else was second.  There was a time limit and as he waited for Edmonton to kill the clock, he shifted in his seat.  He tried to figure where he fit in on each team.  He probably wouldn't go to Florida; they needed defensemen.  Calgary was looking for a goaltender.  He figured he'd be going to the Islanders, Colorado or Nashville.  None of those choices was particularly appealing to him, but this was his profession and he played where they paid.

"So, what do you think so far?"  He asked Quinn _sotto voce_, while Buffalo pretended that they didn't know who they might want, even though it was no secret that they were aiming for Lance McQueen, a forward from Sault Ste. Marie.

She shot him a dirty look, "I should have brought my laptop.  I could be checking e-mail or something.  And this is on television?" 

He pointed to the cameraman.  "Yup. There he is.  Going out on the Deuce to hundreds of hardcore hockey fans.  It's huge in Canada."  He said lamely to her withering look.  "Want to play tic-tac-toe?" 

She sighed, "No.  Why don't you tell me something about the process, at least I can take notes or something.  Otherwise I'll just nod off and have a nap, and I don't think that would look so good."

He smiled and showing her the list, began to explain the hockey draft.

Jane put the last of the glasses in the dishwasher and started the cycle.  In five minutes they'd be clean.  She sat in her stool and using the bar gun, shot a stream of Coke into her mouth.  She had just come in and was tidying up to keep busy.

Trent got up from the couch, there was a commercial in the afternoon's court show line-up.  They were all watching People's Court, waiting for Judge Judy.  The kids from the law school took notes and argued legal points.  A standard Thursday at the pool hall.  He approached the bar and leaned over the counter, rooting around in the cooler for a water.

"So how's the afternoon's take?"  He asked.  He did it to prove that he was running a business.  He didn't think that Jane was fooled, but it made him feel validated as a business owner.

"Surprisingly good. We've had action on the tables and considering that it's still early, we did a decent business during the lunch rush.  Although, since you were the one who sold all the beverages, you should know that.   So, the dart league is doing pretty well.  We had to turn a team away last night."  She took another shot of Coke.

"Cool, you've really got the joint jumping at night."  Trent screwed off the cap and took a swig. 

"Yup.  Darts and pool tournaments.  I think people just want a way to gather together.  Hanging around in a bar doesn't really do it, they want to be active, and they want to play. Speaking of which, did that guy call about the poker tables?"  Jane wiped down the bar with some linseed oil. 

"Oh.  So you DID tell him to call me.  Yeah, I talked to him."

"What did you think?  He said that he could get them second-hand.  I checked out the price and it's fair.  I've already lined up sponsors.  We could do a tournament on Thursdays.  I worked it out.  We charge twenty-five bucks; they get two beers, a cigar and a T-shirt.  The prizes are donated, and we clear twenty bucks a head, plus whatever incidental drinks we sell on the side." She took another shot from the bar gun.

"Jane, I don't think it's cool that you're doing that.  It's unsanitary."  Trent shook his head in disapproval.

"Naw.  It's fine; I don't put my lips on it or anything.  Besides, I don't see a health inspector.  You just got an A last month.  It will be at least a year before anyone comes back.  You could invite all the mice to return and store the meat next to the dry goods again."   Jane inventoried the beer in the cooler, making notes about what needed to be restocked for happy hour.  "Oh, I spoke to Kevin about the loft."

"Kevin?  Why would he know anything about the loft?" 

"Not Kevin the barman, Kevin the builder.  The guy Quinn used for remodeling your house. The Irish guy."  She surveyed the levels in the bottles, everything looked good there.

"Oh.  Right.  So?"  Trent noticed that she really seemed to know a lot about bartending.

"He said that he could do it starting next week.  He'll also wire the spotlights for the art down here, and he'll do the painting.  Here's his contract.  He guarantees that the work will be done within a month and that he'll work from six in the morning until eleven, so they won't disrupt the business.  So if you sign this, this time next month you'll also be running an art gallery and a poker hall.  He mentioned that he could remodel the bathrooms, which I definitely think you should do.  He's got some deal on toilets or something.  You might as well, if you're putting some up in the loft."  She pushed the papers towards him.  "I gave him a deposit already.  He can start on Monday." 

"So I guess I'm signing.  You know, I don't think I pay you enough."  He glanced over the papers and started to sign.  "Quinn approved these, right?" 

"Well, her lawyer did.  You owe him two hundred. He'll bill you." 

"Great.  You're now promoted to manager." He signed and shoved them back to her.

"Okay, cool. So speaking of jobs, how's Daria doing at Hooters?"  She smirked as she said it.

"We try not to talk about it.  She says she wants to save it for her story." 

"Yeah, but is she really grumpy about it?  She's not really known for enjoying physical labor."  Jane glanced around to see how everything looked.

"No.  Not only that but she's actually hanging around with the other waitresses outside of work.  It's like she's making friends or something."  He shook his head.  "Weird."

Jane laughed. "Isn't that like the Stockholm Syndrome or something?  You know, when the hostage starts to sympathize with her captors?  No wait, it's more like when guys go undercover and they start to identify with the criminals.  You know, Donnie Brasco."

"Well, I hope she's done soon.  I mean if she wants to waitress, she can do that here.  She can wear clothes here."  He looked at Jane's outfit of jeans and the bar T-shirt that she designed.  It looked like the sign from the movie 'Casablanca' and it said 'Everyone Comes to Trent's.'

"Yup, I don't think anyone's looking at my hooters.  We could call it 'Tails', I think some of the guys look at my ass." She turned around and shook her moneymaker.

"No.  I think we're fine the way we are.  Go ahead and order the poker tables.  Pay the guy out of the bar account.  So who's going to be letting Kevin in at six in the morning?" Trent addressed the matter closest to his heart.

"You."  Jane deadpanned.  When he paled, she amended.  "No, I'm kidding.  I gave him a key."

He sighed in relief. "Cool.  I guess the girls will just have to wake up early for the next few weeks.  Do you think they'll be mad?"

"I already spoke to them about it.  They get up early anyway to do their prep, but I told them we'd give them free rent for the month." 

"Wow, you're doing a lot of work here," he observed, not a little guiltily, "how are you getting anything done for school?" 

She pulled out her sketchpad, "It's my Toulouse Lautrec period.  I'm doing my project about the bar.  Besides, it's nearly summer so I've got a couple of months to really whip this place into shape.  After that, you're on your own."

"Summer.  I wonder what's going to happen when all these kids go home." He pondered.

"There's a whole city full of grown ups with insufficient air conditioning.  And we've got satellite.  Don't worry."  She smiled at him.

"Okay, I trust you.  So what do you need from the storeroom?"

"Here's the list." She handed him the paper.  "Good to see some work getting done around here."

Nashville was picking their player.  They needed a forward.  Mike's phone rang.  "Yeah. Oh, right.  Yes sir.  Right. Great.  Uh-huh. Okay, put him on.  Hi.  Yes, sir.  I'd love to play.  I can be there.  Graduation's at the end of May.  Good.  Not a problem. Thank you."  He flipped the phone shut. "Well Princess, that's it.  I'm a Predator."

"Ew.  Mustard and silver.  Bad colors for you."  Quinn left the horrid logo out of the conversation.

"Right, and not only that it's Nashville. Not Boston."  He informed her, noticing that Nashville was now officially 'on the clock'. 

"Oh." She knew how much he wanted to play at home.  "I'm sure that your folks will come visit in Nashville, and you'll play Boston occasionally."

"Well, it's not even really an issue.  I'll be on the road so frequently anyway. It's life in professional sports.  Besides, Nashville's a decent team." He was convincing himself more than Quinn.

She gave him a squeeze, "Well smile big and act like you're delighted.  You want to be loved in Nashville."

"Should I talk in an accent?"  He asked, trying to put a country twang in his voice.

"You already do.  Just be yourself."  She looked at him, hoping he couldn't see how she really felt about him.

"Thanks.  If anyone could make me feel good about leaving home, it's you."  He heard them call his name.  He hugged her and smiled.  "Nashville. Great!" He walked up to the commissioner who was holding a cap for him.

_There are perks to being a Hooters girl.  Most people suspect that, but actually living it is another story.  First of all we all get to workout free at our local gym.  All we have to do is wear some kind of Hooter's gear while we do it.  We're advertising.  The Hooter's Girls workout at Gold's Gym.  _

Guys smile at us and offer to spot us as we lift.  It's easy to get sucked into the glamour of it all. 

_That's one of the things I have a problem with.  I've never been the kind of girl who shows off my figure.  Actually, I've never been the type of person who shows off anything.  Except my brain.  But here, that's not really all that interesting to the folks who stop in for a pitcher of beer and a plate of wings (free fries on Friday.)  _

_While I suspect that most of the women that I work with are used to being noticed for their looks, it's a brand new experience for me.  One I am very uncomfortable with.  It's almost like if I'm considered pretty, that I can't also be smart.  Of course that's stupid, but my whole life I've sort of emphasized one and de-emphasized the other.  It's as though if people don't realize that I'm brilliant, and if they like me anyway, that I'm doing some sort of false advertising.  _

_I also was never one to compare myself physically with other women.  That's a daily occurrence on the job.  Guys will think nothing of saying stuff about us to each other.  Now I will give them credit to them for thinking that they do it so that we can't hear, but we do. "Hey, check that one out."  "She's a bit skinny for me.  I like the blond."  "The brunette has a great ass though."  "That is the prettiest girl in the place."  _

_That doesn't really bother me all that much.  After all, in the past nearly everyone was prettier than me.  The other girls have learned to blow it off themselves.  They get plenty of validation for their looks anyway.  What bugs me is when I'm the girl that some guy thinks is the prettiest.  _

_Why would that bother me? I don't really know.  It's as though I owe him something.  I've never felt comfortable turning someone down when they've been nice to me.  I'll admit something I never thought I would admit.  I went out with my first boyfriend for a year because he was the only guy who ever showed an interest in me. _

_Being pretty is not something physical.  It's an attitude.  Nearly everyone can be pretty.  I didn't think that previously, but after doing the Hooters gig, I now know it to be true.  If you lined us up, you wouldn't see a Barbie Doll, cookie cutter type of pretty girl.  What you'd see is a pretty girl smorgasbord.  There are girls of all races, breast size, shape and even size.  We've got one girl that I've heard referred to as 'the Amazon'.  She's not fat, but she is 'zaftig'.  She's also tall.  I'm the smallest one in the place.  And there's everyone in between.  Some are slender, some are curvy, some have long legs, others have luxurious hair.  There is something pretty about each of us, yet for every guy who thinks we are beautiful, there are probably three guys who prefer some other type of girl._

_So, was this what I was so afraid of?  Being judged by my looks alone?  No, I'm used to being judged.  Let me be specific.  I am used to being rejected for my looks.  I am NOT used to being liked for my looks alone.  That is completely terrifying._

_So what do I take away from my experience as a Hooters girl?  Well, I've discovered that I am a babe, when I want to be.  I also have discovered that there are way more bad reasons for me to tone down my looks, than good reasons.  I'll just have to work through that. _

_I've learned that waitressing is hard work.  It's physically and mentally demanding.  Being a good waitress requires a number of skills, and no matter how good the tips are, they aren't enough.  I've also learned that for many of the women who waitress, that they prefer to maximize their take.  If it means wearing a uniform guaranteed to attract sexual attention, then that's okay with them.  My trainer Janet told me, "Guys are going to look at my boobs anyway, why not just accept it and get good tips?"  _

_I've learned that although in the past forty years that women have gained a lot in the workplace, that there are still accepted ideas of a woman's worth, and that much of that is based upon attractiveness.  How many fat or ugly girls were on The Apprentice?  _

_So after having fun, making new friends and taking home a significant chunk of change what do I really think about Hooters and feminism?  Can you say conflicted?_

_I suppose I'll put it like this.  The day I see a Hooters girl in a wheelchair, is the day that I think that we'll have arrived.  I don't think that there's anything wrong with a pretty girl exploiting her looks for money.  That goes from waitresses to strippers.  If some guy is willing to peel off singles for a girl peeling off her clothes, well this is America, and I guess as long as they both feel that they got their money's worth, then okay.  _

_So what about the ugly waitress that wants to make the same tips that we make at Hooters?  Doesn't she have the same rights as a pretty girl?  She has the same rights, but she doesn't have the same raw materials.  Is it fair?  No.  Shouldn't she be judged on her skills as a waitress, rather than how she fills out the uniform?  If that's all it was about, then yes.  But it's not.  Let's not forget what Hooters is.  It's a place where men can come to eat wings and ogle pretty girls.  Would Hooters exist as just a wings place?  No.  There are plenty of places where you can eat wings and drink beer.  _

_In the early nineties Hooters was sued by men for job discrimination.  Now, in a male dominated society, where women are still measuring their success in the marketplace by how their wages stack up to a man's wages (69 cents to the dollar), it's laughable that men would want to compete in this arena.  Isn't it enough that men dominate executive levels at corporations?  Isn't it enough that they dominate whole industries?  They want equality in the place where women have the ONLY advantage?  _

_Naturally the men won, but you don't see Hooters guys.  Right, because women aren't wired that way.  A Hooters guy just doesn't make enough in tips to justify the humiliation of wearing the uniform.  I guess that's it.  Money will take the sting out of just about anything.  You want to stare at my boobs?  Fine.  Pay me.  That's what the Hooters job is about.  It's capitalism, pure and simple.  _

_Does this set women back, or does it empower them?  It depends on the woman.  If you feel that you are the one being exploited, then this is not the job for you.  If you feel that you are taking advantage of a weakness in a man's make up, then this IS the job for you._

_There is a prevailing attitude in our country that a woman who uses her looks, her sexuality, simply to get money, must be some kind of whore.  From something as simple as waitressing all the way up to the porn star who has sex with 100 guys for a video, women are being rewarded for how much of their sexuality they are willing to surrender.  _

_The hypocrisy in our society is that while the more a woman is paid for this type of surrender, the more the rest of us judge her.  Look at the spate of makeover shows that take a plain or even ugly woman, and turn her into a walking Barbie Doll.  Oh, and Barbie is held up as the icon of beauty in our society, and everyone knows that no woman on the Earth could possibly BE Barbie.  She's not even proportioned correctly.  So we see women with so little self-esteem that they are willing to let a doctor change their looks completely, with very little input about their own preferences.  Some women are so brainwashed that they WANT to look like Barbie.  _

_So what if you are the sexual ideal of the most men?  What's the prize for that?  You might get to pose for Playboy.  You might be the one chosen by The Bachelor.  You might get to have a career as a sexpot, but what's in it for YOU?  _

_You see the 'Girls Gone Wild' videos.  (Fess up; someone's buying those things.)  Sure, alcohol has diminished these women's decision-making capacity, but ultimately, these women WANT to take off their clothes and have guys approve of their bodies.  They WANT men to want them sexually.  Why? _

_I don't know.  I thought I'd learn something grand and earth shattering about this whole argument by taking a walk on the other side.  Instead I learned something that's only useful to myself.  I can share my experience with you, but I can't explain how that experience fits into your life.  _

_As a beautiful woman, I have learned that for me, a fine brain enhances beauty.  I have learned that I want more for myself than approval from strangers.  I have also learned that it's okay to be pretty.  I have learned to appreciate the beauty in other women, apart and aside from their intelligence.  I used to be envious, or worse, dismissive, but I've learned that beauty isn't a bad thing.  It just is.  _

__

Helen ran her hand along the finish of the wall.  It was thick and cool.  The house was beautiful. From the brown of the desert landscaping outside, to the cool, white interior.  Wood beams accentuated the creamy walls.  There were three good-sized bedrooms, a large, gourmet kitchen.  An atrium with a fountain.  The house had a tranquility that conflicted with the garish noise of Las Vegas's strip.  Out here, in the area where people lived, was an oasis of clam and beauty. 

Jake turned to her, "So is this the one?"

Helen nodded and smiled, "Let's buy it."

Jake hugged her and addressed their real estate agent. "So we can take possession in June?"

The agent agreed, "Right, the house on lot 47 will be ready in June.  You can still pick out your tile, carpet and cabinetry.  Come back to the office and we'll draw up the paperwork."

They walked back out into the sunshine and heat.  "Gosh, remember this from Texas?  We'll have to wear sunscreen every day."  Jake observed.

"It's a small price to pay for quiet."  Helen squeezed his arm.  "Oh Jake, this is the best idea you've ever had."

Jake smile with pride.  "It's my job to take care of you Helen."

Helen laughed, "No, it's your job to love me and take me where I want to go."

"So is this where you want to go?" He asked.

"More than any other place in the world."  She answered.

Tiffany looked up from her magazine and saw Helen leaving with her box.  "Oh, Mrs. Mor...gan...dor...ffer..."

"Yes Tiffany?"  Helen rested her box on the glass occasional table in the lobby.

"Mr. Sch..rec..ter.. wants to see you before you leave."  She studied Helen.  Tiffany thought she looked a little fat, but pretty for an older lady.

"Thanks.  Is he free now?" 

Tiffany pondered the question.  "I.  Guess. So."

Helen shrugged.  What did she have to lose? She walked down the hall to Eric's office.  Stella nodded at her, indicating that she should go in. "Eric, you wanted to see me?"

"Helen, I just wanted to wish you well.  You know, we're disappointed that you've decided not to remain with the firm.  You've done first rate work over the years.  First rate."

Helen blushed, "Well thank you Eric, but now I'm moving on.  We're moving in a couple of months, and I think it will be good for us. Oh, I've got something for you."  She rummaged through her handbag and found what she was looking for.  She handed the phone to him.  "Here, I don't need this anymore." 

Eric looked at it strangely.  "You don't want your phone?  But what if I need to speak with you?" 

Helen tilted her head and looked at him, "But I'm leaving the firm.  What would you need to speak to me about?"

Eric gesticulated wildly with his hands, "I depend on you to be my sounding board!  I need you to help me strategize, Helen, I need you!"

She backed away, "Eric, I'm leaving.  That means that I don't work here anymore." She explained calmly.

"Well, work, sure, but you can't just cut me off like that."  His face expressed a frightening terror.

Helen became firm. "Eric, knock it off.  I'm out of here, and that phone is no longer a part of my life.  YOU are no longer a part of my life.  Now, unless you've got something more for me to sign, I've got my check, and I'm getting out of here.  Now."  She gave him a steely stare and he returned to his desk.

He seemed embarrassed by his outburst,  "Heh.  Yeah.  Okay, well good luck.  I'll call you sometime.  We'll go for drinks." 

Helen nodded and turned to walk out, making a mental note to change her home phone number.  Helen reached the lobby and picked up her box.  She took a moment to take one, last look around.  Her eye rested on Tiffany, who was sipping a can of diet soda and studying her cuticles.  "Good bye, Tiffany."

"Good.  Bye. Mrs. Mor...gen...dor...ffer."  Helen walked towards the door.  "See. You. Tomorrow."  Tiffany gave a fluttery wave with her free hand.

"What an idiot." Helen muttered under her breath.


	28. Home Sweet Home

**Home Sweet Home**

**Ruthless Bunny**

Wednesday Afternoon 

Jake smiled and beat time on the steering wheel of his car as he cruised down Howard Drive.  He was returning from his office.  The boxes containing the remains of his consulting practice were in the back seat.  Just some files that he needed to keep for tax purposes.  Everything else he ditched in the dumpster at the back of the building.  He looked around at the familiar houses.  In just two weeks he would be driving down a different looking street, none of the green lawns and white fences of suburban Maryland.  Not even the scrubby lawns and ranch houses of Texas.  The new landscape was a combination of desert terrain and flashing lights.  "Las Vegas, here I come." 

His attention meandered to two kids high-tailing it up the street -- one blond, one dark.  They certainly looked as though the devil were after them.  A plume of smoke rose from the back of a house just a half a block away.  Jake stopped the car in front of the house in time to hear the explosion.  It startled him.  He fumbled around with his cell phone and dialed 911.  After three attempts he heard ringing. 

"911, what is your emergency?"  The operator answered.

"There's been an explosion and I think a fire! Here! On Howard Drive!" Jake screamed into the phone, pumped by adrenaline and fear. 

"Sir, do you have an address?"  The operator was used to dealing with people at the most terrifying moments of their lives, she knew to stay calm and to keep the caller calm.

Jake looked around.  There was a huge sculpture in the yard blocking his view.  He pulled up a hair and read the number on the side of the house.  "111 Howard Drive," he told the operator. 

"Is there anyone in the house? Is anyone hurt?"  She asked.

Jake got out of the car and approached the house, there was another explosion from the back, so he got back into his car, "did you HEAR that?"

"Yes sir, I did.  I've got the fire department responding right now.  Did you see anyone in the house?"

Jake's heart was racing.  He saw some of the neighbors who were home early in the afternoon, standing on their doorsteps watching the blaze.  Flames climbed up the rear of the house and ignited the roof.  "No, I saw a couple of kids running up the street earlier, but I don't see anyone in the house.  I hope everyone's okay."   There was something familiar about the house. He had been there before… "Oh My GOD!  That's Jane and Trent's house!" 

He heard sirens and saw the fire trucks coming down the street.  "I hear the sirens sir, do you think you'll be okay?"  The operator asked.

Jake nodded, and then said, "Yes, I guess so."  He put the car in gear and drove up a couple of houses, so the trucks would have room to do their job.  "Thank you for your help."

"Thank you for reporting it sir."  The operator went on to the next emergency. 

Jake sat and watched as the fire fighters jumped out of their trucks.  They hooked up the hose to the fireplug and started to douse the fire.  He remembered the night that an accident in the kitchen started a fire at his house.  He remembered how worried he was about his family, and worried about the Lanes in turn. 

The fire moved rapidly, gutting most of the house by the time the fire fighters had controlled it.  An hour later the hoses were being rolled up.  Jake approached the Captain.  "So, was anyone in the house?" 

The Captain coughed and shook his head.  "Nope.  Thank goodness.  You know these folks?" 

Jake sighed, "yeah.  They're like family."

"Too bad.  Do you have a number where we can reach anyone?  I'd think they'd like to know what happened."

Jake rubbed the back of his head.  "Well, my daughter lives with their son in Boston.  I don't have a number for anyone locally.  Except at the house." He motioned towards the charred ruin. " I don't suppose that would be useful."  He pondered a minute.  "Wow, that's going to be a rough call to make."

The Captain clapped Jake on the shoulder. "Yeah.  Imagine finding something like this out over the phone."

Just then an old Volvo rolled up to the curb.  A frowsy blond woman, in her thirties jumped out, losing a sandal in the process.  "What's going on?  Where are my kids? What happened to my stuff?"

She appeared distressed, rather than hysterical. Jake approached her.  "Are you…" he struggled for the name, "Summer?"

"Yes, do I know you?" 

"Trent lives with my Daria," he explained.

"Oh.  Right."  She looked at the smoldering ruins. "My kids are fine aren't they, and I'm guessing about five miles away?" 

Jake nodded.  "A blond and a dark haired kid, around twelve and thirteen?" 

Summer sighed, "That would be them.  Damn."  She attempted to walk towards the house.

The Captain stopped her.  "It's still hot in there, and it's not safe. What exactly was in the basement?"

Summer laughed mirthlessly, "a kiln, old paint, rags soaked with turpentine and a leaky gas water heater.  Trying to determine the cause of the blaze?"  Her tone was ironic. 

The Captain wrote something on his clipboard. "Well, it's not all that important right now.  We'll have the inspector come out here.  You'll want a report for the insurance."

"Insurance," she repeated, visibly doubting the likelihood of there being insurance on the house.

Jake hugged her around her shoulders. "Do you need to call anyone?  Your folks?  You can use my phone."

She thought for a moment.  "Yeah, that would be nice." She took the proffered Nokia and dialed.  "Serena, you'll never believe this.  The kids burned the house down."  There was a pause.  "Yeah, took off again.  I'll have to report them.  Again.  Can I crash with you until I can figure something out? Great."  She handed the phone back to Jake.  "I'm going to be with my friend until…I don't know, until whenever.  You've got my number stored in there.  Can you call Jane and Trent for me?" 

Jake felt sad.  "Sure.  We'll do that. What about your folks?"

She started the engine, "they're in an Ashram in Arizona.  I think Jane has the number."  She began pulling out and then suddenly remembered something, "oh, don't worry about the kids.  I'll let the cops know they ran away."  The Volvo squealed as she floored it, taking the right turn on Barton Drive fast enough for the back end to fishtail. 

"There goes the Mother of the Year."  The Captain shook his head disapprovingly, "can I see that number?  I need it for my report."

Jake showed him the display.  "Man, just when I was feeling so good."

"I know what you mean Buddy.  Other than the total destruction of this family's home, this was a real pretty day.  Oh well, we've got to get back.  Why don't you give me your number; in case we need more information or something."  He held out the clipboard and pen to Jake.

He absently took it and wrote down his home and cell numbers.  "I guess I'll be the one letting the other kids know about this."

"Keep the faith."  The Captain offered as he climbed into his truck. 

Jake nodded in agreement, "Yeah, that's about all I can do."  He got back in his car and drove the few blocks to his house.

He found Helen packing in the kitchen.  She had been paring down the contents to a few manageable boxes.  "Hi Jakie!" she greeted him, "do you know why we have three fondue pots?" she asked rhetorically indicating the large pile of household items that were not going to make the move to Nevada.

He was still troubled by his adventure.  "I just came from Howard Drive.  There was a fire." 

"Oh how awful."  Helen continued to wrap dishes.

"It was the Lane's house.  Burned to the ground."  He went to the fridge for a bottle of water.  Suddenly his throat felt parched by smoke.

"Oh my God! Is anyone hurt?"  She stopped wrapping and rubbed his back.  Jake was easily traumatized.

"No, but Summer's two kids ran away.  We've got to let the kids know.  We've also got to call the parents.  They're in some Ashram somewhere." He flopped down into one of the chairs in the dinette.

Helen sat with him at the table. "I'll call Daria and let her break the news to Trent and Jane. Should we invite them down for the weekend?  We're a bit upside-down here, but maybe they'll want to come back.  Besides, we need Daria and Quinn to go through their stuff."  Helen was on a mission to pare down to the bare essentials.  Jake was still a bit shell-shocked.  "Honey, you seem really unhappy.  Why don't you draw a nice bath and later I'll take you out for dinner." 

"Okay.  I just really feel bad for those kids.  They've lost their childhood home."  He seemed to be imagining some personal trauma, rather than that of the Lane children.  At Helen's urging, he headed upstairs.  A bath would be nice, he smelled like a clambake.

Helen took a breath and reached for the phone.  She hoped that someone was home; this was not news that you left on an answering machine.  After three rings Daria answered.

"Hello?" 

"Honey, this is Mom.  I'm afraid I've got some bad news."  She tried not to be too melodramatic; she didn't want to alarm Daria. "Everyone here is fine."

Daria sighed in relief.  "Okay, so what's the bad news?"

"There's been a fire at the Lane's house.  The whole thing burned down.  No one got hurt, but Courtney and Adrian have run away.  Your father was there for the whole thing."  Helen continued to wrap as she spoke. 

Daria looked over at Trent, who was eating a Pop Tart and watching television.  "The whole thing?  Gone?  Wow."  She tried to gauge how Trent would take this news.

"I'll leave it to you to tell Trent and Jane, but no one has a number for their parents.  Summer thinks they're at an Ashram.  Do you think Trent has a number?"

Daria moved into the kitchen, hoping to keep the conversation low enough for Trent not to hear.  "No, but Jane might. I can call you back with that information."

"Okay.  We thought you might want to come down this weekend.  Your father would like to see you, and I'd like you to go through whatever you've got stored here and either trash it or take it home with you."  Helen took a group of mugs to the pile of things to be donated to Goodwill.

"That might be a good idea." Daria opened the fridge, she didn't want anything, she just wanted to be distracted.  "Scorch the earth and all of that."

"Don't be so dramatic. You act like we've sold Tara.  You only lived here for three years. Besides, you've got more room than we do to store things."  Helen was ever the pragmatist.

"Yes. We'll come down.  All of us.  I'll RSVP for everyone right now."  Daria picked up a yogurt smoothie, shook it and then thought better of it and put it back in the fridge.  She wasn't really hungry. 

"Great. We'll see you then."  Helen hung up.

Daria thought about how she would break this news to Trent.  So far as she knew, the house on Howard Drive was the only place he had ever lived before moving to Boston.  She didn't know the feeling.  She had moved so frequently that when anyone asked her where she was from, she got confused.  She wondered what he would feel about being told that his home was gone.

Daria figured the more direct that better.  "Trent, I've got something to tell you."

Trent turned towards her, momentarily wondering if it was 'turn off the TV' important.  Judging by the look on her face, it was.  He clicked the remote.  "Is anything wrong?"

She sat down beside him on the sofa and took his hand, "there's been a fire at your house in Lawndale.  No one's hurt, but the house is gone."

It took a minute or two for this information to register with him.  "A fire?"

"Yes.  It happened this afternoon.  Courtney and Adrian were home, but apparently ran away in the confusion." 

Trent tried to feel something.  He was conflicted.  He was sad and resentful at the same time.

"So what was it?  The kiln?  A smoldering roach?  Two curious kids left unattended?"  He couldn't hide the bitterness.

"I don't know.  Apparently my Dad was there for the whole thing.  Mom thinks it would be good for all of us to come down this weekend."  She continued to hold his hand.

Trent pursed his lips, "Yeah, I guess that would be good.  Take one last look at the place before…" He didn't know what.  Before it was bulldozed?  Before it was rebuilt?  Before it was abandoned? 

"There's more.  We've got to tell Jane and your parents."  Daria waited.  There would either be an explosion, or resignation.

"Of course.  I'll tell Jane.  She'll probably know where Mom and Dad are." Resignation.

Daria hugged him, "I'm sorry."

He hugged back, "It's okay.  It's not like I ever planned to go back there."

"Well, it still sucks." 

"Sucks is the appropriate word.  Jane's going to be upset."  He got up and scouted around for his keys.

"You going over there?" 

"Yeah, somehow I think she'll want to hear it in person." 

Trent turned down the stereo in the mini-van.  Now did not seem the appropriate time to listen to Incubus.  He thought about his 'home'.  For years it resembled his prison.  The inmates might change, but eventually everyone was a recidivist.  Someone's life would hit a snag and they'd come to Lawndale to sulk and lick their wounds.  Trent tried to remember the last time anyone arrived home just to visit.   A few years back it seemed that everyone's life went in the ditch, and for the first time in at least a decade, the entire family was together.  He couldn't get out of there fast enough.  He smiled a wry smile.  He had gone to Daria's. 

He pulled up to Jane and Joe's apartment.  He drove around the block a few times looking for parking, he finally found a space between the Bus Stop and fire plug that might pass for legal; if the cop writing the ticket looked at it sideways.

Jane was sitting on the stoop of her building sketching.  "Hey, what brings you to this neck of the woods.  Slumming?"  Jane lived in a working class neighborhood, at least five years away from gentrification. It might have been shabby around the edges, but hardly a slum.

"No.  I've got some bad news and I thought you'd want to hear it in person."

She sighed.  "So what is it?"

"The house in Lawndale burned down."  He sat next to her, ready to dispense a hug if she needed one.

"Wow.  I don't know how to feel about that."  She dropped her pencil and shook her head, not wanting to believe.

"Yeah.  Daria's dad watched the whole thing.  Courtney and Adrian."  He abbreviated it; she could fill in the blanks.

"Oh.  So playing with a lighter?  Left the oven on?  The kiln?"  She speculated.

"I don't know.  Does it matter?"  He tied his bootlace.

"No, I guess not.  The house is gone."  She was silent for a moment. "I guess we'll never have another family home."

"Did we even have that one?" 

"You know, it was good for awhile.  I remember times when Mom and Dad would have their friends over.  All of those hippies sleeping in the living room.  Wasn't there a Christmas in there where we were all together?"  Jane leaned back against the top step, trying to conjure up a memory that matched her idea of what her home represented.

"I remember when I lived in the tent in the backyard.  It was metaphorical."  He realized that he was wallowing; he was there to be strong for her, not to diminish her grief. 

"I suppose.  For some weird reason I feel like I want to go back.  I need to see it to believe it."  She grew emphatic.

"Daria and I are driving down this weekend.  You want to come?" He got up and helped her up.

"Yeah.  I guess.  We're staying at Daria's?" She dusted off her butt and bent over to pick up her supplies.  "Who's going to watch the pool hall?"

"I'll get Kevin." 

"You're going to let Kevin do it?  I thought you were getting smart about this." 

"How about Kevin and Lisa?  Do you think she'd want a couple of shifts?"  Trent realized that he now had to think about the business.

"Don't worry, I'll take care of it.  Pick me up after school on Friday."  She opened the door to the building.  "No, pick me up at about noon.  I want to see it at sunset."

Jane went into her house and sat on her sofa and looked around the living room.  The art on the walls, the furniture that she had rescued from various sidewalks on trash day, the curtains she had sewn, even the entertainment center that Joe spent four hours building.  While most college kids just lived in a space, Jane had made a home.  Everything dusted, polished and carefully arranged.  Was it like her house in Lawndale had been?  No, these were her things; this was her home.

She went to the roll-top desk in the corner and found the last number she had for her parents.  She believed that it was a cell phone number, but there was no real way to know.  She dialed, hoping that she'd get an answer.

"Hello?" 

"Mom?"  Jane could hear a loud murmur of activity in the background.

"Summer?" 

"No, it's Jane," she identified herself, it was generally thought that she and her sisters all sounded alike, but there was something troubling about her mom not knowing that it was her.

"Hi Jane!  What an unexpected treat!  How are you?"  Amanda was genuinely delighted to hear from her youngest.  It had been awhile since Jane had called her.

"I'm fine, everyone's fine, but I do have some bad news."  Jane felt sure that her mother would be crushed to hear about the fire.

"Oh?  What's happened?"  Amanda's voice conveyed curiosity, not panic.

Jane sighed, her mom was so much better in her imagination than in reality. "We think that Courtney and or Adrian started a fire." 

"A fire?  Where?"  Amanda still seemed more interested in getting information than into jumping to an obvious conclusion.

"The house.  There was a fire in the house."  Jane grew exasperated, "Mom, the house has been burned down to the ground.  Courtney and Adrian have run away, we don't know where.  I'm going down there on Friday, to see if anything can be salvaged.  I guess you and dad will need to go back to Lawndale to deal with this." 

There was a pause, "I wish I could, but I've got a show opening this weekend."  Another expectant pause.

Jane realized that her mom was just going to let this go, just like she let Trent go, just like she let Jane go, just like she let everything go.  "So what are you going to do about it?  You can't just leave a burned out shell.  I'm sure there's some kind of arrangement that needs to be made.  Demolish what's left, file an insurance claim, Mom, you can't just leave it for someone else to take care of.  It's _your_ house." 

"Jane, don't make such a big deal.  It was a place we lived.  Your father and I aren't materialistic like that.  We'll just live somewhere else.  We really like Arizona.  If you're going back, you can take care of everything for us.  You probably know better than we do about all that anyway."  Amanda again took advantage of a well-placed silence.

Jane suddenly and truly understood Trent's anger. "Mom, I'm going down there and I'm going to get anything that's left that's important to me.  I am not going to clean up your mess.  Trent is not going to clean up your mess.  This is your responsibility, and you can either deal with it appropriately or you can just do what you've always done, although consider yourself warned, the township might consider the property abandoned and sell it out from under you.  But that's your problem, not mine."  Jane pressed 'end' on her phone, although it would have been much more rewarding to have slammed down a receiver. 

Thursday 

"Quinn, I thought that you'd be the first one to call 'shotgun' on this trip.  You don't want to get your stuff from Mom and Dad's house?"  Daria sat on the bed while Quinn shuffled some clothing in her closet.

"Are you kidding?  First of all, if I haven't missed it in the past nine months, I can live without it, secondly, it's in Lawndale, a place I haven't missed at all in the past nine months."  Quinn put a few items in a plastic garbage bag destined for charity.

"What do you have against Lawndale?  I seem to recall that you were embraced with open arms.  Lawndale was pretty good to you."  Daria helped her by holding the top of the bag open as she placed some shoes in it.

"Daria, you weren't there for my senior year at Lawndale High, to say it sucked would be a huge understatement.  Do you like these shoes?"  She held up a pair of gold strappy sandals.

"No, to say that I dislike those shoes would be a huge understatement.  What did you ever wear them with?"  Daria took them from her and placed them in the bag.

"A cocktail dress that I had in my head.  They've never been worn.  Oh well, they'll make some hooker very happy." She continued to sort through her closet.

"Right, but don't you want to go back, at least to see Mom and Dad?"  Daria glanced down at the bag, trying to see if there was something in there that she might want.

"I love Mom and Dad, but I'll go see them when they move.  I just don't have it in me to deal with all the crap in Lawndale."  She reached down and shooed Joyce away from her cashmere sweater pile.  "Be a good kitty, go sit on the bed."  Joyce obediently jumped up on the duvet.

"What crap?"  Daria reached over to pet the cat.

"You know, going back and having to meet up with all of my 'friends' from high school.  All of those hypocrites who claimed to like me, but who really just wanted something from me.  The only one I'd ever want to talk to again is Stacy, all the rest of them can jump in a lake for all I care."  She took a pile of T-shirts and stuffed them into the bag.  "I need another bag."

Daria accommodated her by tearing one off the roll for her, "what are you talking about?" 

Quinn stopped sorting and sat on the bed.  "Remember that summer before you left for school?  I took that job at the restaurant?"

"Yes, sort of, I had a lot on my plate then."  Daria snuck a peek at the T-shirt pile.

"Right, well, so did I.  I caught a pile of grief for registering for a heavy class load.  Sandi, Stacy and Tiffany signed up for photography and yoga and stuff like that, I was trying to catch up by taking some A.P. and honors classes.  I had to get the minimum STAT score of 1200 just to get into Raft.  I studied my tail off and I got a 1205.  I went to that damn cram school for three days a week to get that.  Every day Sandi would point out, in front of all the guys how I was becoming a 'brain.'  I mean, who cares?  I was.  I was trying not to have to go to college with people just like them.  Pepperhill.  What was I thinking?  The first clue should have been that surfing was mandatory!  So I thought, if I really put my mind to it, I could get a good score.  I knew I could never get your scores, but I could hold my own.  And dammit I did it!  So what do I get for my trouble? Idiots mocking me!"

Daria laughed, "So? You're judged by the company you don't keep."

"If I had a chance to really make other friends before senior year, that might have been true for me, but I didn't.  I was stuck with the Fashion Club.  I'm not proud; everyone needs a social life. Even you Daria.  You had your friends.  Jane, Trent, Tom, even Jodie and Mack were there for you.  When you and Jane weren't speaking, you still had people to go out with, friends to talk with.  Without the Fashion Club I would have been all alone."

"What about Joey, Jeffy, Jamiel, Jordan, John, Jack, what were their names?"

Quinn blushed, "Oh Daria.  What was I thinking?  Those guys were stalkers!  They didn't know me; I didn't know them.  They just wanted to date me because I was queen of the school."

"So, maybe one of them would have been worth knowing." 

"Maybe, but I was too busy milking them for presents, compliments and one-upmanship over Sandi.  I like the attention. I like it when guys fight over me, or I used to.  By senior year, I realized these guys were going nowhere.  When I had that job at the restaurant, I met college students and they were interesting.  Lindy was interesting.  But when school started she had her things, and I had Lawndale High." 

Daria put aside a couple of things out of the bag.  "So what happened?"

"Well, I got the idea for the business and I went to the Fashion Club for help.  Sandi shot it down, and as always, Tiffany and Stacy agreed with her.  Stacy apologized later, much later, for not being supportive.  In the end, it was just me.  So I worked on grades and my business.  Boy did that suck."

Daria didn't get it, "Why?  You don't like them, they weren't helping you, why did you miss them?"

Quinn turned it back on her, "Why did you miss Jane?"

Daria considered, "I missed Jane because she was my friend."

"Well, they were my friends.  Maybe they were crappy friends, but were the friends I had.  When they bailed on me, I had no one."

"Are you trying to say that no boys wanted to date you?" 

"No, but who cares about that?  Boys always want to date me.  Boys want to date _you_.  Boys can be friends, but they can't replace your friends.  With boys, there's always the sex question.  I don't trust their motives. I needed my girlfriends, but they didn't need me."  Quinn sighed.  "I'm still really angry about it."

"I can understand that.  So why not go back and rub their noses in it?" 

Quinn's features morphed into fury, "Because I'd tear that bitch's head clean off."

"Eep."  Daria chirped.

Quinn calmed herself, "Actually, I don't trust myself.  It took me a long time to get past trying to justify myself and my choices to them.  If I go back now and I run into them, no matter how successful and happy I am with my life now, I'll still just be making excuses.  Screw that.  I didn't need them then, I don't need them now, and I don't need to back and pretend...anything.  I am happy and I am successful and the best way to prove that is to just enjoy it with the person who made it all possible.  Me!"

Daria smiled, "Still as self-involved as ever."

"Yup, and that's why I am who I am!"  Quinn tossed her a sweater, "this one is your color."

Friday Evening 

Jane, Trent and Daria walked around the house, boots crunching on debris from the fire.  .

"Wow.  This sure is final." Jane shook her head.  "The only things left are the sculpture out front and that damn gazebo.  Completely and totally destroyed.  I thought for sure I'd be able to save _something_." 

"I don't know why, but I feel like I want a cigarette."  Trent observed, kicking something melted and plastic. 

"This really stinks," Daria observed as she sidestepped a jagged and charred object, "the smell of it is just as depressing as the sight of it.  I just can't believe that one of the most important structures in my life is gone." 

"Most important structure in your life?"  Jane asked. "It was my house."

"I know, and I'm sure that my feeling of loss is much smaller than yours, but you have to admit, you two..." she stopped, "well, you know." 

Trent hugged Daria to him, "Yeah, we know."

"I guess the only thing to be salvaged is that sculpture."  Jane pointed, "The gazebo can stay."

"So what are you guys going to do?"  Daria didn't want to bring up a sore subject, but something needed to be done. 

Trent coughed.  "I think I'll rebuild it."

Two female heads turned to him in amazement.

"Mom and Dad will get the insurance money.  I'll buy the lot from them and I'll build a house on it."  He seemed to be making it up as he went along.

"Why?" Daria made the word sound both plaintive and accusatory.

"I guess I'm not ready to have my whole life dry up and blow away.  I don't have my band, I don't have my family; I'm not ready to give up my home too."

"Trent, that's just stupid.  The band wasn't your life, the family wasn't your life and this isn't, or wasn't your home," Jane pointed out, "this was where we grew up and we lived here for a long time, but right now, it's just a house, or it _was_ a house.  Think about it, we've already made homes for ourselves.  I've got a home with Joe and you've got a home with Daria.  This was just a place to remember.  Actually, now that I've seen it, I'm glad.  This was my last reason to return to Lawndale.  Now that it's gone, I never have to come back."  She smiled, "What a relief!"

Trent cheered up, "That makes sense.  I started to hate this place towards the end anyway.  Let's trash something."  He looked around for something to tear up, but there wasn't anything that hadn't burned to a crisp or melted into a blob.  He picked up something that at one time might have been an aluminum pot.  He flung it towards a window on the second story, and it crashed through, shattering the remains of the window.  "Okay, I'm done."  They walked back to the Tank.  Jane took one look back, "I guess that's the end of that."

Daria turned thoughtful, "I never thought of it that way.  Without your house, I don't have any reason to come back either."

"Why would you _want_ to come back?" Jane climbed into the back seat.

"I wouldn't," she chewed her lip, "I can't think of a reason that I would want to come back, but it's a place that I know, I have some really good memories here, it's weird to think that I'll never come back.  I mean if we drove down to Florida or something, it would be a short group of familiar exits off of I-95.  It might be ten years in the future and Lawndale, as we remember it won't exist.  Even in the past two years, although we've been back, things continue to change in our absence.  Thomas Wolfe had it right, you can never go home again."  She turned to watch the house fade as they turned the corner. 

"That's deep."  Trent played with the words in his mind.  _You can never go home again_.  It was truer for him than for most.  There would never be a warm welcome for him; there wasn't even a home for him, at least not here, not now. Not _ever_ if he were being honest.  "You know what Daria, you may not be able to go home _again_, but you can go home."  He didn't say it, but he meant: _I can go home to you._

Sunday Morning 

They needed a U-Haul trailer to bring everything back with them.  Daria and Jane cleaned Helen out of her unwanted kitchen gear.  Jane also claimed various pieces of furniture.  Linens, curtains and decorative items were divided up.  Among the things ending up in the Goodwill pile were Quinn's old clothing and most of her bedroom decorations.  "It looks like a Hello Kitty store blew up," Daria opined.

The house was nearly bare.  When Helen had packed up the things destined to make the move to Las Vegas, she had moved them into the garage.  As she packed it was like peeling layers of an onion.  In stages she had gone from her home to a house.  There was no imprint of either her or Jake on this house anymore.  The ultra-modern furniture, the ugly artwork that matched the ultra-modern furniture highlighted the shrink-wrapped quality of their things.  It struck Helen that the last step in reclaiming her authentic self was to get rid of these furnishings.  In their new house, it would be different.  Only things that she loved were going to surround her.  No compromises. 

Daria came in, mostly to let her know that they were loaded up and ready to leave.  "So what next?"

Helen sipped from her mug of coffee. "You'll see us in our new house."

Daria was disquieted with the ease that Helen and Jake could just pack up and move.  Although she was reluctant to admit it, there was a comfort in knowing that if her life took a sudden turn, that she could come home to her folks.  But now they were moving to a place she'd never lived before.  They were buying a house that she could never call home.  "Is there room for us?"

"Three bedrooms, I'm thinking about getting a Murphy bed for the den. Plenty of room for visitors."  Helen was mentally checking items off of her list. "So are you nearly ready to go home?" 

"Yeah, we just have one stop to make before we head north."  Daria hung around for just another minute, drinking one last gulp of the house in Lawndale.

Helen realized that her daughter was about to leave and reached to hug her.  "Drive safely, especially with that trailer.  I don't trust those things."

"I will Mom."  Daria hugged back.

Jake stood on the landing of the stairs.  "You taking off Kiddo?" 

"Yes Dad, we need to get back early." 

Jake came down and hugged Daria ferociously, "I love you Kiddo, promise me that you'll come home to visit." 

"Come home to visit?"  It was a confusing concept for her.

"You know, wherever your mother and I are is your home.  So now you'll come home to Las Vegas.  I'll teach you how to play craps!"  He pantomimed shooting dice.

"Okay.  That sounds like fun."  Daria smiled, it did sound like fun.

Helen and Jake walked her out to the driveway where everyone else was on board and waiting for her.  They waved as the van pulled away from the curb.  Jake kissed Helen on the cheek, "It's always nice when the girls come home."

"Oh Jakie, you're so sentimental.  Help me write an ad for the Pennysaver, we need to get rid of all of this ugly furniture.  You're so good with words." 

"Okay, how about, Moving Sale:  Furniture Galore!  Leather! Chrome! Art!  Must sacrifice!"  He composed in the air as he spoke.

"Sounds good, put something in there about how we're letting it go cheap."  She went into the house to see if there was anything else that needed packing.

Trent took the shovel and loosened the base.  Jane and Daria rocked it and it finally gave.  The luggage rack on top of the tank had been cushioned with some old bed-sheets.  It took a few minutes and a lot of muscle, but finally they had the sculpture nestled on top.  Trent and Jane took rope and bungee cords and secured it firmly.  If it moved while they were driving down the interstate it could be a disaster. 

"Do you think it will hold?"  Jane asked as Trent tossed the shovel towards the hole.

"It has to. I think it's too heavy to move around too much.  Let's hit the road, this place gives me the creeps."  Trent dusted off his hands.

There was no temptation whatsoever to look back as they drove towards the interstate.

Sometime Later 

Wind drove slowly past the vacant lot.  "107, 109, nothing, 113.  I know it's here somewhere.  Wait a minute...I know that gazebo!" 


	29. Turkey Day

Turkey Day 

By Ruthless Bunny

Daria smeared the cloth across the coffee table. The smell of lemon Pledge freshening the stale winter air as it conditioned the wood. Daria saved vacuuming for last. She put the can of polish away and went to the hall closet for the Hoover. She started with the carpet and moved to the wood floors. Just a lick and a promise today. She'd leave the mopping for Trent. It was their agreement.

Now for her reward. Daria went into the kitchen and put on the kettle. She reached under the counter for the stool so she could reach the cookies. Mint Milanos. In just a few minutes she enjoyed her snack while admiring her clean house. She was just finishing up when doorbell rang.

Joyce stretched on the sofa and stood up. Normally she'd walk to the door with whatever human's opposable thumbs were working the doorknob, but in the winter she stayed well away from the blast of cold air the open door brought.

Daria looked down at two, somewhat familiar faces. "Come in, it's freezing out there." Adrian and Courtney. "We were worried about you. Are you hungry?"

They looked at each other and shrugged. "I assume that means yes. We've got some soup, I'll heat it up for you." They moved into the kitchen, dropping their backpacks on the sofa. Daria put a container in the microwave and set the timer. "Give that a couple of minutes. I'll make you some sandwiches. You eat meat right?" She reached into the cabinet for some tuna.

"Yes." Courtney responded. She seemed quiet and subdued, not her usual sassy self, although Daria had only met the kids a handful of times, they had always seemed wild.

"The phone is over there. Call your Mom and let her know that you're okay; then I'll call your uncle. You can sleep in the guest room until we figure out what we're doing." Daria put their lunch together while Adrian dialed.

"It's been disconnected." He seemed sad.

"Did you call the house?" Daria asked while she poured soup into mugs.

"Yes." He too seemed cowed.

"Well, that's gone. Faulty wiring. Apparently the whole basement was one big code violation. Try her cell phone, the number's on the board there." She indicated the dry erase board where notes and messages were kept. Jane had drawn a gryphon in blue at the corner.

"Mom, it's me. We're at Uncle Trent's, you know the number. Call us when you get this message. Bye." He hung up. "Voice mail."

"Well sit down and eat. We're just glad you're okay." Daria set them up at the table and called Trent.

"Buddy's Pool Hall," Jane answered.

"You've always wanted to say that, haven't you?"

"It's my dream job. Now if I could just get a job at a mortuary so I could say, 'You stab 'em, we slab 'em.' So what's up?"

Daria walked into the kitchen, "the kids are here. I made them some lunch but I don't know what else to do. Do you suppose that Trent could come home?"

"Just a sec. TRENT!" Jane screamed across the pool hall to Trent who was lounging on the sofa watching Judge Judy. Daria heard some muffled conversation.

Trent picked up the receiver with a sigh, "Hey Daria. So they showed up?"

"Yes, and they seem okay. I gave them some lunch." That was about as much as she knew to do and she hoped that he'd come home to take over.

"The bookkeeper's coming in later so I can't leave. Just put them in my old room for now. Let them watch TV until I get home." He sighed again.

"Okay, but don't we need to notify the authorities? Aren't their faces on a milk carton somewhere?" She glanced over at them as they tried to tempt Joyce with pieces of tuna from their sandwiches. The cat was on the table; a place that everyone, including the cat, knew was off limits. "Hey!" She motioned with her hand and all three guilty parties jumped. Joyce vaulted to the window seat and glared at Daria, "we don't encourage the cat to get on the table. If you want to give her something put it in her bowl."

"Sorry," Adrian apologized and got up to place a morsel of tuna on a small pile of Tender Vittles. Joyce licked her paw, affecting disinterest.

Daria nodded, "Thank you," she returned to the telephone, "okay, so I'll get them settled in, how long will it take Summer to get here to bring them home?"

Trent rubbed the back of his head, "I don't know, I suspect that we'll be having houseguests for a while. As for the authorities, I don't think it's an issue. Just wait for us to get there tonight. Jane and I will try to come up with a plan or something."

"Oh. Okay." Daria looked at the kids who had finished their lunch and were playing with the cat. She hung up the phone and turned her attention to her young charges. "We have a game plan. You are staying here with us for the time being. Let's go to your room and put away your stuff."

Daria indicated for them to pick up their gear and head upstairs with her. Joyce followed the procession, not wanting to be left out. Daria opened the door to Trent's old room and indicated to Adrian that he should make himself at home.

"I get this room to myself?" He bounced on the bed.

"Is that a problem?"

"No, I just don't remember the last time I had a room to myself." He looked around and opened a bureau drawer. "Cool. Can I play the stereo?"

"Sure, just don't blast us out of the house. Be sure to put any CD's back in their cases. I'm about to do some laundry so if you have any dirty clothes put them in here," she indicated the plastic laundry basket in the closet, "and I'll throw them in with ours."

"Our clothes are beyond dirty," observed Courtney.

"Uh-huh," Daria said, trying not to betray her disgust, "maybe we'll do a special load of yours first then. I guess you'll want showers too."

She put Courtney in Quinn's room, with explicit instructions not to play with any of her things. The rest of the afternoon was taken up with laundry and scrubbing two weeks worth of road off of the kids. By the time Trent and Jane got back the three of them were playing Uno in the living room. Daria kissed Trent hello, "Did you bring dinner?"

Jane held up two bags from Outback. "All covered. I'll get the plates." Jane moved into the kitchen, "I need two kids to help me!" she called and Courtney and Adrian padded in to help her.

Trent pulled Daria away from the activity in the kitchen and motioned for her to sit down on the sofa.

Daria saw that he was distressed, "So what do we do now?"

Trent shrugged, "Daria, I know that you want to save the world, but we can't keep them. I guess we'll have to send them back to their mother."

She hugged him, but was puzzled by his reaction. "_Of course_ we'll send them back to their mother. No other thought occurred to me. What were _you _thinking?"

Trent coughed. "I sort of thought that we'd get stuck with them. Permanently."

Daria blanched, "are you _kidding_?"

Trent sighed, "I wish I was, but my family's history…"

"Say no more. I understand now. I promise Trent, no matter what happens, they won't be staying with us." She hugged him again, "Let's eat dinner and you can call Summer later, after they're in bed." She imagined him laying down the law, "we'll both call her," she amended, "it'll be fine. Trust me." She smiled enigmatically.

It wasn't all that odd that the kids were hanging around the house. Most schools were out for holiday break. Jane and Daria were enjoying their winter break as well. Sometimes the kids went into the pool hall with Trent. Joyce enjoyed the extra attention that all the humans crowding the house gave her, but sometimes she missed having the sunbeam in the dining room to herself.

Conversations with Summer had been less than rewarding. They had consisted of vague promises of 'trying to somehow manage to get out there.' Considering that her children had 'managed' it, the promise rang hollow. As the days stretched towards Thanksgiving it became apparent that unless drastic measures were taken, Daria and Trent would be enrolling two kids in school.

Trent realized this before Daria did. She seemed to be having fun finding recipes, making cookies and in general living out a holiday fantasy. Jane and the kids all seemed to be elbow deep in gingerbread, sugar cookies and Yorkshire pudding at intervals.

Trent brooded as conversations about Yorkshire pudding traveled from the crowded kitchen to the living room.

"Daria, look at this, if we put it in with the roast, they'll puff up with the 'drippings'. What are 'drippings'?" Jane read an entry off of a recipe website.

"Fat. They puff up in fat. We can do them in muffin tins with shortening." Daria was consulting a battered cookbook.

"What is the deal with these anyway?" Jane demanded to know, "we've roasted potatoes with success, these have the stench of failure written all over them."

"It's a challenge," Daria pronounced, "if we can do this, then we dominate the kitchen. Besides wouldn't it be an achievement? Yorkshire pudding, who else do you know who makes it?" She stared at the batter, not daring to stir it, lest it loose its elasticity.

"What is Yorkshire pudding exactly?" Jane asked peering into the bowl.

Daria shrugged, "I don't know, a member of the donut family, only not sweet. It holds gravy. We've gone this far. Let's put them in with the roast. They'll get some meaty flavor that way."

"And if they suck?" Jane asked while watching Daria drop spoonfuls of batter into the roasting pan.

"Deny all knowledge. We've still got potatoes."

Trent listened to the clang of kitchen implements as he pondered his situation. So far Courtney and Adrian had been perfectly behaved. Even after they had been made to understand that they didn't cause the fire, they continued to be model children. If Trent didn't know any better, he'd suspect that they were trying to get him to take them in. He tried to avoid them, but they were family after all, and when they weren't raising three different kinds of hell, they were fun to be around.

He had formed a plan designed to force Summer's hand. The only problem is that he knew that it would work. His plan, if brought to its conclusion, would result in the kids residing permanently with him.

He wondered what it was about his karma that made him the raiser of children in his family. First his sister, now his niece and nephew. He wondered if he needed to have his own children to break the cycle. How many generations of children would need to be brought up before he could resign? Perhaps that was his fate, to be constantly surrounded by the kids of his less responsible family members. He shuddered. An image of Wind's as yet unborn children flashed in his mind and he tried to shake it off.

Trent dialed the now familiar number, expecting to get voice mail, so he was surprised that Summer answered. He half-expected that she was ducking his calls. "Hey Summer, I have an idea."

"Oh, you know I was meaning to get back to you, but things have been really crazy here." She seemed to be talking to him from a crowded place.

"Right, here too. You know, it's nearly Thanksgiving, I think it would be great if you could be here with the kids for the holiday." He waited for the protest.

"Oh, that would be great, but you know, finances…" She left it unsaid, it was a common theme in family discussions; how the lack of finances kept them from doing something that they didn't want to do.

"I'll tell you what, I'll spring for the ticket. Call it an early Christmas present. Just pick it up at the ticket counter." He smiled, now what would her excuse be?

The silence on her side of the phone made it obvious that she didn't want to come, didn't want to take her kids back with her, didn't want any of the responsibility that she had taken upon herself. "Oh Trent, I couldn't…"

He lost his patience, "Stop playing games Summer, get your shit together, figuratively and literally. Go to the airport, American Airlines, a ticket is waiting for you. It's a direct flight at 2:00 PM tomorrow. Do bring photo ID; do NOT bring any contraband. I will pick you up at Logan." He panted, it was an effort for him to be stern, but he was protecting himself and Daria. These were her kids; let her raise them. There was only a small amount of guilt nagging at him. Poor kids.

"Shit Trent, some of us have jobs and other…things we're in the middle of here…" Summer wasn't taking it lying down.

"Summer, I'm not playing around here. You are collecting child support from two different guys. At this point you are collecting that money fraudulently. I will report you, to the state and to whatever other authorities I need to." He waited.

"Since when did you stop being so mellow?" She was cowed and compliant.

"Since I got my own life. You picked your life, now get your ass up here. We'll put you up, stay through the weekend. We'll send you home in time for the kids to get back to school." He blew his breath out. He was lightheaded.

"Fine. I'll see you at baggage claim." She replied, none too pleased.

Trent threw the receiver back on the sofa and leaned back, covering his face with his hands. "Damn."

Jane came in wearing an apron and sipping soda out of a large, plastic tumbler. "What was that all about?"

"Summer, she's coming here tomorrow."

Jane smiled, "Great, she'll be here for Thanksgiving! You know, I've always talked about how I like TV dinners for holidays, but I think this year I can actually get my hopes up! I mean, Daria's getting this roast beef thing down, who knows? Maybe we can work up to a bird."

Trent felt pity for his sister. Deep down he always suspected that all she wanted was a normal family. Mom, dad, brothers and sisters. People around who would talk to her, appreciate her and love her. He nodded, "yeah, it should be pretty good. We've got over a week to put it together.

Jane sat for a moment, "wow, do we even know how to act at Thanksgiving?"

Trent smiled; he decided that he wanted to create a holiday for his family. He couldn't fix them, but he could do this one, small thing. "I think we can learn."

"Oh, maybe we can even do a family Christmas!" Jane stood up and waved her hands, then sat down again.

"Slow down, let's get through Turkey Day first." Trent admonished, "if there's no bloodshed we can think about Christmas."

Jane started to respond but was interrupted.

A thundering knock came from the door. "Let me in!"

Jane peeked out through the window and saw a figure holding a stack of shoeboxes. "Daria! Mike's here!" She opened the door and let him in. Just as he was inside, he let the boxes drop.

"Whew! That was an armful." He looked around at the orange boxes with athletic shoes spilling out of them. "I think I got enough for everyone!"

Courtney and Adrian ran in from the kitchen to see what the commotion was about. Courtney held Joyce on her shoulder, like an infant. Joyce protested. "Mrow!"

Mike knelt down on the floor and began doling out swag. "Jane, these are for you, these are for Joe. Courtney and Adrian, here are the latest and greatest for you. Trent, I thought you'd like these in black." He had two boxes remaining, a pair of pink sneakers for Quinn and a special box for Daria. "Daria! I have something for you." He held the box out to her as she wiped flour off of her hands onto a dishtowel.

"Thanks." She opened the box and observed a baby blue pair with a dark blue swoosh on them. "Cute."

"Hey, it's a perk of being a spokesman." He smiled as everyone tried shoes on.

Jane shoved her foot into an expensive and sophisticated running shoe in lime green, "explain to me again how you can endorse something you don't wear, for a sport you're not playing."

He laughed, the NHL strike/lock-out meant that although he had a contract, that he wasn't playing. "Simple, it's a straightforward campaign, 'You Gotta Wear Something' a bunch of us are doing it. I'm standing next to Mario Lemieux in the print ad. It's money coming in. I guess I'll just rest up and try again next year. If we still don't have a team, I'll have to play in the Czech Republic." He headed back to the kitchen for a beer.

Joyce played with the tissue paper, to Courtney and Adrian's delight. "Trent! Look!" They giggled. Again, he felt a twinge of guilt.

Summer had arrived with an army surplus duffle bag filled with broomstick skirts. The kids stopped smiling when she arrived and kept to themselves. Jane tried to spend more time with her, inviting her to hang out with her at the pool hall during her shift. Summer divided her time between talking to her friend Serena on her cell phone and smoking packs of clove cigarettes on the back porch.

One afternoon when they could cajole Summer to the pool hall the kids helped clean the place while she sat playing old songs on the jukebox.

Jane, who had grown weary of her sister's self-imposed ennui, tried to engage her in conversation, "So what are you doing in Lawndale now?"

Summer coughed and stubbed out her cigarette, "I'm staying with Serena."

Jane put away a clean load of glasses, "what about work?"

"Well, I had a gig at this shop on Dega Street, they sold tea and coffee, but the owner was a jerk so I left." She shrugged, as though Jane should understand.

"Required you to show up to work and stuff?" Jane was starting to regret having Summer around, thought she should change her name to 'Bummer'.

"It's not like working for your brother." Summer responded.

Trent came out of the storage room with a case of beer. "Working for me?"

Jane explained, "Summer was just telling me that working for you is more like a spa day than actual work."

He put the case on the bar, where Jane began to unload it into the cooler for happy hour. "Right. Hey, I know, since you're between gigs, and you don't have a permanent address, why don't you work for me?"

"Yeah Summer, it's a real treat here." Jane crammed the bottles into the ice viciously.

"Work. Here?" She looked around and began to suspect that she had fallen into a trap.

Trent leaned against the bar. "Sure, it'll be great. You can work here and live here." He spread his hands out, as though asking her to survey his domain.

"Live. Here?" She began to look like a deer in the headlights.

"There's an apartment upstairs. Two bedrooms, comes with furniture and everything." He made the offer openly. He knew that the girls in the restaurant still lived up there. He knew that he didn't need any extra help in the pool hall. He knew that there was no way that she'd stick around. A steady job and a fixed address were just not her scene.

"Oh, I don't know…you seem to have everything all covered here." Her hands shook as she lit another cigarette.

"But I'd like to help you out. You need to get back on your feet. What kind of brother would I be if I didn't lend a hand?" He reached back into the cooler for a water.

"Can I think about it? I've got some stuff going on with Serena and I've got a lead on a job in Lawndale." She inhaled deeply. "Besides, the kids are enrolled in school in Maryland." As if that mattered.

The next day Summer and her baggage were gone. There was a note left on the dining room table:

_To Whom It May Concern:_

_Please be advised that my children Courtney Elizabeth Wellington and Adrian Byron Wolf are in the care and custody of my brother Trent Lane. He has full and complete authority to seek care for them on my behalf as well as to enroll them in school. _

_Sincerely,_

_Summer Lane_

Daria, Trent and Jane ate toast and coffee while digesting the note.

Jane scrutinized it, "no misspellings. She's getting better. So I guess the kids are staying in Boston."

Trent couldn't express what he felt. He was so angry that he just shook his head and crumbled his breakfast.

Daria took his plate away and rubbed his shoulders, "it's okay, we'll manage. I guess we've got to enroll them in school, get them some clothes," she thought some more, "I don't know, what else?" Daria was about making lists. Any problem could be handled with a list.

Jane stirred her coffee, "you know Trent, there is another way."

He looked up, his eyes dark and terrible, "what? Put them in foster care? Try and find their fathers? What?"

"I could take them." She said it quietly and sat back in her chair waiting for his eruption.

"You? Why you?" He shook his head as though mentally calculating how many more years of child rearing he had until he could be free.

"You did your part and look how great I turned out. Joe and I will take them. It'll be a wee cramped in our apartment, but hey, you slept in a tent for most of 1990…"

"No, I'm more equipped than you are. We have the space here." He seemed resigned.

"Actually, Joe and I are thinking about getting a house. We were going to ask you to co-sign or something. We've put an offer in, but we're not closing until January." She smiled shyly, "We're getting married."

Trent smiled. It was a ray of good news in a morass of aggravation. "Married? Wow." Where did the time go? Sure she was young, but Joe was a good guy and Jane had a good head on her shoulders. "I'll tell you what, I'll co-sign and I'll help out."

Jane laughed, "I thought you might. Thanks. So it's settled. After Thanksgiving the kids will come to us, we'll put them to work with the move."

Daria sat confused. "I followed the part where Jane offered to take the kids. I followed the part where Jane said that she and Joe were getting married. I even followed the part where Jane said that she and Joe were buying a house. Where I lost the thread was the part where Trent is co-signing and 'helping' out." She turned to him, "Trent, can you explain this?"

Trent grumbled and Jane turned on him. "You haven't told her? Why not?"

"It never came up." He avoided Daria's stare.

"What? What is it?" She wasn't angry, just curious.

Trent didn't seem to be saying anything, so Jane stepped in, "Trent has money. A lot of it. Enough so that he never has to work. Quinn hooked him up with her accountant and he's all squared away."

Daria coughed. It gave her time to formulate a response. "Never has to work? I just thought he chose _not_ to work. Are you serious?"

Two dark heads nodded up and down.

"Trent, why didn't you tell me? I've been so worried about you." She spoke quietly, not wanting to accuse or to scream at him.

"I'm sorry, it's a hard subject to bring up." He patted her hand, "Are you mad at me?"

"Mad?" She thought for a moment, "not mad, more…surprised. And…hurt. I guess everyone but me knew. I can't imagine why you would share this with everyone…except me." She got up, "I'll be in my room."

Trent rose to follow her, "Daria…"

"No. Give me some time. I need to think." She walked slowly up the stairs, Joyce following a judicious distance behind, pausing only to give Trent a Siamese look of distain.

"What was that?" Trent was befuddled.

Jane shrugged, "I don't know. What did you expect? Why didn't you tell her?"

He paused, "I guess I was afraid something would change. Maybe she'd want something."

"Like what?"

"I don't know. There isn't anything I wouldn't give her. I think I liked that she was with me even though I had no prospects. I think I've been waiting for her to wake up and realize that I'm a big loser. I thought that if I told her then she'd hang around for the wrong reasons. I'm an asshole."

"Yeah. You're an asshole. But it's curable. Give her some time. We can get back to this," she indicated Summer's letter.

"So what are we doing?" Trent asked.

Jane smiled, "I have a plan."

Daria came down after Jane had gone home and found Trent teasing the cat. He jumped up when she entered the living room.

"So are we okay?"

She sighed, "Yes, we're okay. So what did you think? That I'd freak out?"

"Well you did a little." He smiled.

"True. Okay, so I'm over it. How much are we talking about here?" She smiled; it was dazzling to think of Trent as having money.

He liked that she was matter of fact about it. It made him realize that she was just interested in the abstract. "A little more than two and a half."

Daria thought for a moment and cocked her head, "two and a half? What?"

"Million."

If she were a cartoon there would have been a side view of machinery in her brain, big cogs and wheels grinding away. She shook her head, "Million?"

"Give or take, I still get royalties." He smiled modestly.

"Million? Wow. That's quite a sum." She sat down. "Wow. So what are you doing with it?"

He sat on the sofa and cuddled her, "Not much. I've got the pool hall, but that's paying for itself now. I've wanted to buy you a present for a while, but I didn't know how to bring it up. What would you like?"

"What would I like? Hmmm. My parents would like us to come for Christmas. How about that?" She snuggled in.

"But we're having a family Christmas. Jane has her heart set on it." He hated to deny her.

"What if we all go?" She laughed.

"All of us? I suppose we can sleep in sleeping bags." He considered.

"Oh brother. Trent, we can stay in a hotel. My dad gets a discount at the one he works at. We'll all get rooms. Jane will get her family Christmas and we'll get to go to Las Vegas. Your treat."

"Okay. If Jane agrees, then we'll do it."

Jane's phone rang sometime after midnight; luckily Jane and Joe were up watching television. "Hello?"

"You bitch." The voice at the other end seemed slow and shrill.

"Hello Summer." Jane smiled; she had been waiting for over a week for this shoe to drop.

"You stole my money," she slurred, "I'll just take them back."

Jane sat up in bed, "I don't think so. We've already been granted temporary custody and I'll fight you. I have resources, I have your kids and you only have yourself to blame. I went to family court and made it legal, you were supposed to show up, but you 'failed to appear' nearly a week ago. I'm their guardian now. If you want to do something about it go ahead, it starts at the courthouse. You know the place."

"Be reasonable Jane, the child support is my only income." Summer wheedled.

"Gee, I thought the child support was to support the children. I guess you'll have to get a job or something." Jane yawned. "I'm going to bed now. I've got things to do tomorrow. I suggest you do the same."

"What happened to you? Both you and Trent, you've changed." Summer took a drag on her cigarette.

"Yes, we've grown up. We're responsible adults. I can understand why you don't recognize it. Summer, it's fine if you want to drift in this world, but it's not cool for you to do it with your kids in tow. They're being educated, they have a stabile home life, it's good for them. Trent and I are doing what's best for them."

The response on the other end was nearly unintelligible. I'm hanging up now." Jane put the receiver in the cradle and turned it off.

"Good night, Joe." She kissed him.

"Good night, Killer."


	30. Winter of Our Discontent

Winter of our Discontent

By Ruthless Bunny

Daria and Joyce sat on the sofa watching the news. Joyce batted a piece of popcorn around as Daria dipped into the bag for another handful.

The cold front is sweeping across the New England states bringing with it ice and snow. It's expected that we can get as much as twelve inches in the next twenty-four hours, with blizzard conditions lasting through the weekend. Stay tuned to our six o'clock report for Snowbird with the school closures.

"Damn." Daria remarked as she thought about how she had planned to go to the grocery store later in the week. "I guess I'm going now," she addressed Joyce who had curled up in a ball in the corner.

Quinn popped her head in the front door, "Dar-I-AAA!" she called.

"I'm right here."

"Oh. Get your coat, we're going to the store." Quinn jingled her keys.

"Why don't we take the van? Trent left me the keys." Daria jingled her set of keys.

"Even better, there's more room."

On the road to the store the skies were gray and it seemed even colder than usual. "Looks ominous," Quinn remarked as they rolled toward a very busy supermarket.

"Hurricane." Daria said as she pulled into a space at the outer edges of the parking lot.

"Right." Quinn immediately understood the shorthand of shared experience. In this case the behavior of Texans when a hurricane watch was issued. Everyone stormed the grocery store in search of provisions. "Remember that lady with a cart full of frozen dinners?"

Daria laughed with the memory, "yeah, what an idiot. Electric is the first thing to go in a windstorm. Hey, at least we can get them this time; we'll just store them on the back porch."

"We've got a gas stove and a fireplace, we can cook real food." Quinn grabbed the last cart, one with a baby seat molded into the handlebars, and moved into the crowded store. "This is worse than a shoe sale at Nordstrom."

"I guess," Daria pulled her list out of her coat pocket. "Okay, let's get this and get out of here." Between the two of them they made quick work of it, piling up their cart with staples and impulse purchases of the junk food variety.

Quinn considered the cookies, candy, cake mix, chips and other non-nutritive foodstuffs starting with the letter 'c'. "Wow, that's a lot of crap."

Daria shrugged, "I know, but if I'm stuck in the house all weekend I want options." She maneuvered the cart to the back of the shortest line, which stretched the length of the magazine and greeting card aisle.

"I know what you mean. When I can go anywhere and do anything, I never have cravings. But let me be hungry after midnight, when everything is closed and the fridge is empty and I'll settle for a furry breath mint from the bottom of my purse." She thumbed through a fitness magazine with a model in a small bikini on the cover. "Do you think they fixed this picture to elongate her torso? I mean, who has body proportions like this?" She squinted at the photo.

Daria shook her head. "Don't ask me. I'm short; I think all of those pictures are of aliens, not people. Who do we know who looks like that?"

"Jane." Quinn put the magazine back on the rack, "not that she'd do anything about it."

"Jane model? For her own art maybe…" Daria considered cracking into the corn chips and decided to wait until she got home.

Quinn raked her fingers through her hair, "you know how you can look at people and know what it is they could do, but they don't?"

Daria gave her sister a look, "no."

"Oh come on, you know, you think about what the people around you could be doing instead of what they are doing. It's like a game."

"So you think about what your friends lives are like and then you decide how they _should_ be living them? And this is a _game_?" Daria stressed the sarcasm.

Quinn ignored it, "Right. Like Trent, he's doing pretty much exactly what he should be. He's got a job where he can loaf around all day. Jane's interesting because she could be a model, but she'd rather be an artist, or a bartender, or whatever she's doing now. Joe is a coach, but he'd probably be a really good teacher, Marissa is studying nursing, but I don't think she has the patience for it. How about Daddy?"

"How about him?" Daria scanned the magazines to see if there was an _Economist_.

"He was miserable in sales and marketing, but he's really happy dealing blackjack in Las Vegas. I don't think I would have guessed that for him." She reached up to a display of bubbles and threw a bottle in the cart, "these will be fun for Joyce."

"So you couldn't figure out Dad? How about Mom, is it her destiny to be a lawyer?" Daria was fairly sure that it was.

"No. Mom would be much happier directing something." Quinn mused for a moment.

"Like the infantry?"

Quinn giggled, "yeah, or maybe a construction crew."

Daria nodded, "I wonder how her job search is going."

"She's getting the house all pulled together first; then she'll get a job. Apparently she and Dad got rid of all of their furniture, so they started with a bed and they're building from there." Quinn looked around for something else to put in the cart.

"I thought she was going to check out the public defender's office."

"District Attorney's office. Mom's more of a prosecutor, but then she saw all the red tape involved, plus she'd have to pass the bar in Nevada, so she'd keeping her options open." Quinn handled a small book entitled "Understanding Your Cat." She quickly replaced it.

"Really?" Daria was slightly guilty that she didn't know any of the details of her parents' life.

"Well, you know…I think that once she left her old firm, that she just lost the desire, the drive and frankly, I think she's ready to retire from the rat race." Quinn began unloading things from the front of the cart onto the conveyer belt.

Daria unloaded what she could reach and dug in her backpack for her check card. "Wow. Retire. I can't remember a time when Mom wasn't working." She thought for moment, "no way, she's not going to retire."

"Maybe not retire, but change careers." Quinn waived her card, "I've got this." Before Daria could protest, Quinn had swiped the card and the transaction had processed.

"Hey, I could have…"

"You're cooking. Let's get back to the house; I want a fire, hot chocolate, Casablanca and my cat."

The pulled into the driveway and saw Joe's SUV on the street. Daria honked the horn, "I guess Jane and Joe are here."

"With the kids in tow I'm assuming," sighed Quinn, "so much for a quiet evening."

The door opened and two heads peered out. "Come out here and help us bring in the groceries." Daria called to Courtney and Adrian.

"We aren't wearing our shoes." Courtney called back.

"Then put them on. Come on, we need help." Daria started in with plastic bags cutting into her palms.

Slowly the kids wandered back into the living room in search of footwear. Jane was setting the table for dinner. A large bucket of fried chicken was the centerpiece.

"I see you cooked," Daria remarked as she shuffled into the kitchen to put the bags on the counter.

"I helped!" Courtney chimed in.

"Smart ass," Daria muttered under her breath. "Where's your uncle? He can help too."

"You rang?" Trent popped up from his prone position on the sofa.

"You too, put your shoes on; I have groceries to get in." Daria directed.

In a few minutes Daria was in the kitchen with a large part of the grocery store to put away. "Don't anyone touch anything, I have a system," she announced as hands reached and grabbed at the treats.

"No fair," pronounced Adrian.

"Right. No fair. Is your homework done?" Jane asked.

"Nearly." He shuffled, knowing what was coming next.

"Okay, just so you know what to expect, let me break it down for you. Go upstairs with your sister and do your homework. We'll call you for dinner in 30-minutes. After dinner you can play cards with Trent and Joe until 8:30, then you'll be in your room. You brought your books?" Heads nodded. "Then that's what you can do before bed."

"Man, I thought snow days were supposed to be fun." Adrian griped.

"Nothing's fun when I'm around. Get used to it. Now get." Jane pointed upwards.

When he was out of earshot, "I just love that. They like it too; they just make noise because they think they have to. Joe taught me that. Isn't that the best?" Jane smiled.

"I'm impressed. So they just do it?" Daria sorted through the pantry, shuffling boxes and bags around.

"Pretty much. You just lay down the rules, be swift with the consequences and that's that. They like clean clothes, hot meals and waking up in the same house. We all just pretend that we're on a sitcom. What can I do to help?" Jane washed her hands in the sink.

"I'll be done in a minute. Ice in glasses I guess. Are we letting them drink soda?" Daria referred to the various 12-packs of beverages.

"No, milk or water. They get too much sugar at school; I'm watching that crap at home. I'll have a Coke though."

"Wow, talk about a double standard." Daria handed her a can out of the fridge.

"Hey, rank has its privileges. I'm grown. I can do what I want." She put the can on the table next to her plate. "Let's go watch something crappy on TV so I can rub it in."

Trent and Joe supervised the kids in cleaning up the paper-plates from dinner while Daria, Jane and Quinn watched a DVD on the sofa. Joyce sat in Quinn's lap nestled in her cashmere sweater. The fire crackled and popped. All they needed was a knitting grandma and a canary to complete the scene of domestic harmony.

Headlights shined momentarily through the curtains and the doorbell rang. Everyone was loathe to get up out of their warm seat to answer the door. Finally Trent walked into the living room, "Hey, someone's at the door."

The bell rang again, "Yeah, why don't you see who it is," Daria suggested.

Trent walked into the entry way and turned on the porch light. He peered through the glass and saw two figures bundled up in quilted jackets loaded down with sleeping bags, pillows and shopping bags. He opened the door quickly to admit them.

The bundles unwrapped and revealed themselves to be Melissa and Kevin. Trent motioned for them to follow him to the living room. "Daria, your friends are here." He walked back into the kitchen.

Daria looked up, "Hey, what's up?"

Kevin smiled at her, "Did you hear? There's a blizzard!"

Jane sighed, "Are you here to wait it out with us?"

Melissa put her hand on his arm as a signal to be quiet, "We hope you don't mind. Everything is closed downtown. Kevin and I thought it would be too much of a temptation to be alone together…so we came here." She observed the stricken looks on Daria and Jane's faces. "We brought food, and our sleeping bags."

"Yeah! And I grabbed some beer from the bar." He held up a six-pack of Guinness, "Good beer!"

Jane stood up, "Great. Kevin, go put that on the back porch to cool. Melissa, give the groceries to Daria," she rolled her eyes, "She has a 'system'."

Daria hopped up and grabbed the plastic bags, "Thank you, I'll just put these away."

Kevin walked back into the dining room where Joe and Trent were playing Texas Hold 'em with Courtney and Adrian. "Hey, can I play?"

Trent stopped mid-deal, "Sure, pull up a seat." He nodded at Courtney, "Give him some chips."

Melissa followed Daria into the kitchen, "Thank you so much for letting us stay. Do you have any idea how hard it is for me not to jump on him?" She glanced dreamily at Kevin who was sorting his chips into piles.

Daria fixed her with a look of disgust, "No."

Melissa laughed, "Okay, so I'm crazy in love with him. We're getting married over Christmas break, then all bets are off!"

"Do I have to put my fingers in my ears and sing? Ew!" Daria hefted a jar of Miracle Whip out of the bag, "I have condiments you know. We're only talking about a couple of days."

"But that's all I like on my bologna sandwich, and I thought you guys were mayonnaise people." Melissa stuck her head in the fridge, "Can I have one of these sodas?"

"Knock yourself out. Wait a minute. You're marrying Kevin?" Daria put the American cheese slices on the counter.

Melissa laughed, "Yes! We're getting married. December 23rd. I bought a beautiful brocade suit. We already have the license. We're having a small ceremony, only family and a few friends. You're invited naturally." She popped the top and reached into the cabinet for a glass.

"Naturally. Marrying Kevin?" Daria shook her head; it made no sense to her.

Melissa explained, "I think you've got a blind spot about his intelligence. Let's just agree right now that he's not the sharpest tool in the shed. But he isn't stupid either. He's a gentle soul. He doesn't have a mean bone in his body."

Daria had to agree, in the years that she had known Kevin he had never intentionally done anything to hurt her feelings. "But he does have all those bones in his head."

Melissa giggled, "You're funny. We have the same goals. We both want a family, he's great with kids. He's coaching our church league football and in the spring he'll do baseball. He's working part-time in the kids ministry at our church. He has a willing spirit."

"Kevin joined your church?" It didn't mesh with what she knew about him. "But he works in a bar."

"So? People have to work somewhere. He likes working at the bar. He has flexible hours there. Besides, Christ changed water into wine, so there's nothing wrong with alcohol, in moderation." Melissa sipped her soda.

"I didn't know that you believed that. I thought you were against alcohol. You were always so strident about it when we were in the dorms." Daria put the bags in her bag holder in the pantry.

"That's because we had such a problem with binge drinking. Most freshmen don't have a real good sense of self-control. Actually, I enjoy a nice cocktail or a glass of wine every now and then. I have to be careful because alcoholism runs in my family." She finished her soda and put her glass in the dishwasher.

The doorbell rang again. Daria went to answer it. "Mike! What are you doing here? I thought you were with your folks."

He stepped in and brushed the snow off his parka. "My sister and her husband are over there with their kids. It's getting ugly. I figured there'd be more grown-up oriented activities over here. You don't care do you?" Daria stepped aside as he dropped his hockey bag. "I brought beer." He held a six-pack of Heineken.

"Put it on the back porch. They're playing poker in the dining room." She waved him in.

Quinn stood up from the couch, Joyce clung to her and voiced her displeasure. "Mike!" She cried, trying to unclaw the cat from her sweater. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to see you Princess!" He gave her a kiss on the cheek, "and of course the kitten." He scratched the top of Joyce's head.

Quinn flipped her hair, "no really."

He smiled, "Really. I'd much rather be here with you." He sat down at the table, "Deal me in." Courtney smiled and pushed a pile of chips his way.

Jane checked her watch, it was nearly nine. "Hey! It's late; you guys need to get upstairs."

"Aw!" Adrian complained, "But we don't have to go to school tomorrow, can't we stay up late?"

"No, because I'll have to put up with your cranky face if you don't get enough sleep. So cash in and go to bed." Jane pointed up the stairs.

Joe got up with them, "I'll come up and hear your prayers."

Daria's jaw dropped and she turned to Jane. Jane shrugged helplessly, "We're raising them Catholic." She waited for a moment, "You can close your mouth."

"But…" Daria tried, but there were no words.

"But what? Is it hard to believe that Joe and I think that religion is important? Since I don't have one, we're using his." She leaned in conspiratorially, "I have to take special classes. We can't get married in the church until we go through this whole program."

"You're going to be Catholic. How do you go from nothing to Catholic?" Daria sat on the sofa and expected Jane to do the same.

"Actually, I don't have to convert; I just have to agree to bring up the kids in the religion. Fundamentally, I don't have a problem with religion. I'll admit, there are things that I don't agree with, but I'm allowed to question and to have doubts. Our priest is completely cool." She smiled, "I like structure too."

"Okay. It's your afterlife." Daria saw that the DVD had ended. Quinn was in the corner talking with Mike. "What's up with that?"

Jane shrugged, "Aren't they dating?"

"I thought they were each other's beards." Daria noticed that Mike had brushed a piece of Quinn's hair off of her face.

Jane nodded, "Well, they stepped it up to something else. Although she's always liked him. Maybe he's traded you in for the sports model."

"What?" Daria feigned ignorance.

"He started off liking you. You were taken, so he's transferred his feelings to your younger, flashier sister. Keeping it all in the family I guess."

"Um. Okay. Good. He's still my friend without all that mooning around and stuff." Daria rifled through the pile of DVDs on the coffee table. "How about this one?"

Jane nodded when the doorbell rang, "Do we have a Red Cross on the front lawn?"

Daria answered the door to a very cold Antoine. He carried a gym bag, a blanket and a Snoopy pillow. "Can I crash here? I brought beer." He held up a six-pack of Beck's.

"What's wrong with your house?" She asked.

"It contains my soon-to-be-ex-girlfriend and it's way too small to be cooped up with a seriously pissed off woman. So now, instead of tormenting me during the storm, she can have the place to herself." He stamped the snow off his shoes.

She ushered him in. "Nice pillow."

"Do not dog the Snoopy pillowcase." He said with as much dignity as possible.

"I wouldn't dream of it." Daria pointed to a corner of the room where Antoine dropped his stuff. "The guys are playing poker if you want to join them."

Daria put in another DVD and called over to Quinn, "Are you watching this with us?"

"I'll be there in a minute." Quinn answered, looking up into Mike's eyes, "You're going to Sweden to play?"

He sighed, "Yes. European League, the team is really well respected and the money is just as good. Jonkoping, Sweden. A bunch of NHL guys are doing it. It's a small town, warehouses and factories. Ikea's there. You like Ikea, right? Anyway, I'm going over after Christmas. The season lasts through March. You could come visit me."

Quinn smiled, "Okay, I will. But you have to make it worth my while."

He laughed and kissed her on the forehead, "Only you Princess. I promise. It'll be worth it."

Everyone bedded down where they could. Antoine and Mike on the sofa, Kevin and Melissa on the floor. It was very late by the time they all go to sleep.

Daria woke up and picked her way through the living room and into the kitchen. She fed Joyce and put on the coffee. Among the provisions were three different brands of bacon, four loaves of bread and three dozen eggs. "French toast and bacon." She decided. She put the griddle on the stove and started beating the eggs.

A half hour later the sleeping lumps roused themselves and stumbled into the kitchen looking for coffee and food. Daria put them to work and soon the table was set. Food soon followed.

Snow covered everything outside. The cars looked like eggs at the front of the house, the back yard was slick and icy. "No one's going anywhere for a while," Jane pronounced. She turned on the television to get the latest weather report. The picture tried to come in, but tiled and wavered. The audio clipped and stuttered. "Damn! No television."

Trent came in and assessed the situation. "Must be snow in the dish."

"What does that mean?" Jane flipped through the channels.

"We can go up there with a broom and clean it out." He said.

"Kevin!" Jane screamed. "Come here!"

The guys suited up and stood outside staring at the dish. It was covered in snow. Kevin held the broom and Antoine and Joe braced the ladder. "Go ahead." Trent said, "It shouldn't take long."

Kevin looked down at ladder, it disappeared into the snow, so it looked solid, but he suspected that there was a sheet of ice underneath. "I don't know…did you test the ground?"

Joe nodded, "It's ice alright, but this snow is packed hard, it shouldn't bother you."

"I'm freezing my ass off, get up on there already," complained Antoine.

Kevin put a boot-clad foot on the bottom rung. Antoine slid a bit and the ladder wiggled. "Oh no. There's no way."

Trent looked disappointed, "It is a bit rickety. Wait, I have an idea." He walked around to the back of the house and returned with a metal garbage can. He took the lid off, revealing a sack of charcoal. "It's ready-light. Shouldn't take a minute." He aimed the barbecue lighter at the bag and clicked. A small flame caught the bag and within a couple of minutes there was a roaring fire. They maneuvered the can where they wanted to position the ladder and waited.

Courtney and Adrian came out of the house and made their way towards the guys. "We have marshmallows!"

Soon sticks were found and they toasted marshmallows over the fire. The snow and ice melted, revealing the wet cement under the eaves. "Okay. Now try it."

The ladder was again braced and Kevin ascended with the broom. He swiped at it a couple of times, but it was hard packed. "Use the handle." Joe suggested.

He chipped at it, and it began to crumble. Soon the dish was clear. "Okay! We've got it!" Jane called from the back door.

The guys whooped and high fived each other. "Now what?"

"Let's make a snowman!" Courtney suggested.

They thought about being stuck inside for the rest of the day. Mike was the first one to speak, "Sounds good to me."

When she saw that they were playing in the snow, Jane came out to help. Soon a snow-family sculpture stood on the front lawn. "Now that looks great. I wonder if they'll stay up until Christmas."

Daria, Quinn, Melissa and Joyce sat on the sofa watching. "Wow. That looks cold." Daria commented, warming her hands under Joyce.

Quinn nodded, "Throw another log on the fire, bake some gingerbread and make some hot chocolate."

"Is that all madam?"

"It's a suggestion. I'd do it, but I don't know how to cook." Quinn offered, "I'll clean up."

Daria shrugged, "Deal."

When they came back in, warm treats awaited them. Jane smiled and nudged Joe, "I know this sounds stupid, but I'll bet that this is one of their best memories."

Joe laughed, "It's one of mine. That was really fun!"

The dining room table was again used for poker. Periodically they'd go outside and swipe the freshly fallen snow out of the dish.

At around midnight the snow stopped falling and the temperature got into the double-digits. Jane turned on the weather. "Hey! It's over. The plows will be out tomorrow and there's a warm front moving in from the south." She seemed disappointed.

"Great!" Daria said, "Just in time for school on Monday."

Jane laughed, "Courtney and Adrian will be thrilled. I'm sure you'll be happy to get your house back."

Daria looked around. The sofa pillows were in disarray, clothing and bedding were tossed all over the living room. Wet shoes sat in a soggy pile by the front door. Empty plates and glasses decorated all of the flat surfaces. Every man in the room sported two days worth of beard. "Oh I don't know, and give up all of this?"


	31. What Happens Here, Stays Here

Daria peeked out the window and down into the Grand Canyon. The red rocks tipped with snow gave an otherworldly feel to the landscape. Trent leaned over her shoulder to take in the view, "Cool. Do you think we can take a tour of that?"

She shrugged, "I don't know. Maybe by helicopter." She put her iPod buds back in her ears.

"Helicopter." Trent mulled it over as he sank back into the seat. The plane descended slowly towards the airport and Las Vegas.

Adrian and Courtney played cards in the seats across from Joe and Jane. "I. De. Clare. WAR!" The cards flipped furiously.

"Psssst!" Jane hissed at them. "Don't be obnoxious." The kids continued in stage whispers which were mostly drowned out by the drone of the plane.

Joyce snoozed in her carrier, snuggled in Quinn's pashmina. Quinn tapped on her laptop while Mike flipped through a Sports Illustrated. "So Princess, you gonna play the slots?"

Quinn looked over at him, smiling, "I thought that craps was more my game."

"Split the difference and we'll play Blackjack." He made a move to close her computer, "I thought you were taking a vacation."

"Just finishing up some spreadsheets. I promise, once we land, this thing is staying in the hotel."

The captain came on over the loudspeaker, "In just a few moments we'll begin our final decent into Las Vegas. It's been a pleasure serving you on our flight today. From everyone on the flight deck we'd like to wish you a very, Merry Christmas."

The landing was uneventful and it took them nearly an hour to walk from their gate, through the terminal filled with slot machines and shops down to baggage claim.

"Uncle Trent, I heard that you can rent a plane and get people to handle all your baggage for you. How come you didn't do that?" Courtney asked as she shifted her backpack to her other shoulder.

"Don't be fresh," Jane admonished.

"I wasn't. I saw it on TV. Really famous people have their own airplanes and semi-famous people can rent them. They're really cool. The seats have fur on them and the stewardesses give you candy and cocktails if you're a grown-up." Courtney searched the carousel for her pink wheelie bag.

"Joe, we're canceling cable." Jane remarked reaching for her ancient hat-box as it tumbled down the ramp. "I think it might be time to touch up the skulls on this." She inspected the leather, long since worn smooth.

Joe snagged his suitcase, or rather his hockey 'locker'. "We're not canceling cable. It's the only way I can see hockey anymore."

The sun had set by the time they claimed their rental and headed towards the strip. "I'm glad we were able to check into the hotel at the airport, that way we can head straight out to your folks." Trent commented to Daria as he drove on a surprisingly empty stretch of highway. "Where is this place anyway?"

"Some new development in the foothills of something." Daria consulted her Mapquest. "Keep going another twelve miles."

The sky streaked purple and pink as their mini-van continued towards the exit. After two wrong turns and a tour of the lesser developed parts of Clark County they found the development.

Daria squinted at the street signs, "Okay, we're supposed to turn left onto Vista Verde. There it is!" She pointed as Trent swung the van into a quick Louie onto the curved street. "What is with these houses?"

"And they're all made out of ticky-tacky and they all look just the same." Jane sang under her breath.

Each house sported neutral stucco; dark wood beams jutted out of the second story to evoke adobe architecture. They pulled up to an immaculately landscaped home. Lights accentuated the sparse greenery. Ironwood trees, cacti, bougainvillea each sharing the appropriate part of the lot. "We're here." Trent pulled into the driveway behind two new vehicles. The Grand Cherokee and Lexus had been replaced with a Prius and a VW Bug.

"Mom drives a Bug?" Daria asked as the door slid open and everyone started to get out.

"That's Dad's car." Quinn said nodding towards the lime green turbo. She reached for the cat carrier and her purse.

"O. Kay." Daria said, trying to wrap her mind around Jake tooling around in a chick car. It was only slightly harder for her to imagine her mother in the ecologically friendly Prius.

Jake appeared at the front door in flip flops and baggy jeans, "Hi everyone! Come on in! We're almost ready. Helen's just finishing up in the guest room." He showed them into the living room.

The house was new and immaculate. They entered through an atrium featuring native plants and rock sculptures. The Saltillo tiles echoed as the group moved into various parts of the house.

Daria walked through the kitchen, reaching into the Jenn-Aire for water. "Dad, is it okay if I take this?" She held up a plastic bottle.

Jake gazed at her strangely. In ways he didn't really know her now. Her face had lost some of its hard edge. She seemed softer, more approachable. "Of course." He turned towards the quickly dispersing group, "Anyone else want anything?"

Helen came out of the master bedroom, "You're all here!" She hugged Quinn and moved towards Daria, who hugged back while trying to keep from spilling water on the floor. She motioned towards Courtney and Adrian, "Kids, come back here with Joyce, we've got your room all set up for you."

Courtney picked up the carrier comforting the cat as she walked, "Joyce, don't worry, you'll like it here." Joyce muttered and moaned, pawing at the door of the carrier. "Is it okay for me to let her out?"

"Sure." Quinn nodded. "Let her check the place out."

"What's the story with these walls?" Daria ran her hand along the Navajo White plaster, applied in thick, rounded coats to mimic the interiors of an old Mexican mission.

"Oh, that's a nice touch don't you think?" Helen moved everyone out of the kitchen and towards the living room.

"A bit Disneyesque." Daria commented.

Wood beams lined the ceiling and a row of small windows nearly ten feet above them let in the last glimmers of sunset. The Kiva-style fireplace stood poised to host a crackling fire while a tastefully decorated Christmas tree twinkled with lights and glass ornaments.

Quinn sat on the curving, beige sofa, "This is really comfortable. Do you use this room often?"

Jake sat next to her and grabbed a remote off of the rustic coffee table. He tapped a few buttons and the picture over the fireplace slid away, revealing a flat panel television. "All the time! Check this out!" A Russian news team appeared on screen. "Satellite. REAL satellite. I even get Al Jazeera!" He changed the channel to prove it.

Trent smiled in approval. "Cool. Get anything in Spanish?" He sat down and Jake showed him the controls. He changed it to a Spanish language channel where a novella was on. "Check it out, _Otro Clavo_!" He called to Daria.

She turned to watch and Jesse appeared, wearing glasses and exposing the vast expanse of his chest. A dark haired woman with a thick application of make-up implored him to do something, either to be quiet or to mow the lawn. Daria didn't really understand too much Spanish. "Does he still have a career?"

"He's as big as Luis Miguel. Bigger even." Trent replied cryptically. You'd have to know who Luis Miguel was to appreciate the comment.

Daria shrugged. "Are we eating somewhere or should we go straight to the hotel?"

They piled back into cars and headed over to the Strip. Once at their hotel, themed after Naples, complete with regular eruptions of a 1/3 scale Vesuvius, they contemplated their dining options.

Jane thumbed through a brochure given to her by the concierge, "We can do the Sorrento Buffet, 'an array of delicious specialties from around the world." She read, "they have fried chicken and macaroni salad." She showed them the picture.

"Isn't there a five-star restaurant here?" Helen asked, "I think they have the largest collection of Italian wines in the country."

"I'm thinking pizza." Daria offered.

"We can eat pizza anytime. Let's live dangerously, let's try _Pescatore_! They have fish!" Jake guided them towards a quiet spot around the casino, in the back of the hotel.

Helen slipped the maitre'd a twenty and their party of ten was seated in the corner of the room. "This is nice." She picked over a relish tray, settling on a large, green olive before opening the wine list. She indicated the bottles she wanted and the waiter left to retrieve them from the wine caves they passed through on their way to their table.

The menu was family-style, meaning that rather than each person ordering something separate, large plates were ordered for the table.

Courtney poked Adrian, "Isn't it cool? We don't have to order off a kids menu!" She speared a cherry pepper and bit into it, smiling. "Yum!"

"So everyone, tell me what you're all up to!" Helen encouraged, as the waiter poured a Pinot Grigio into glasses. "Quinn?"

"Nothing much Mom, still selling haircare on shopping channels, getting ready for finals when we get back. Working, studying, the usual." She sipped the wine and nodded approvingly.

"Oh." Helen seemed disappointed. "Daria? Trent?" she turned to them expectantly.

Daria looked behind her, then at Trent. "Like what? Did you have something specific in mind?"

"Noo-oo-o, not exactly." Helen dipped a piece of bread into a plate of oil. "Jane, tell me about this young man here." She indicated Joe, who was busy putting one of everything on the antipasti platter onto plates for the kids.

"Huh?" He looked up a moment but Adrian insisted on having an artichoke heart, so he went back to his task.

"Joe? He's a hockey coach at Raft, his blood type is O positive and he only has one point on his license." Jane recited, "Is there something specific you wanted to know?"

Helen sighed, "I just took a job at the Marseilles as a wedding coordinator and I was hoping to convince one of you couples to take advantage of my discount."

"A wedding coordinator?" Daria questioned. "What on earth made you do that?"

Quinn considered it for a moment, "That's a great job for you Mom! You get to plan and execute events. I can see you doing that."

"Sorry Helen," Jane added, "it's a nice idea, but Joe and I are getting married in church in the spring. You're invited," she added, to stem the disappointment.

"Daria? Trent? How about you guys? You've been together a while, how'd you like to get married?"

Trent smiled and looked at Daria, "What? We'll let you know when we're ready to take that step. Besides, you'd want us to have a beautiful, tasteful wedding. I'm envisioning Elvis from his 'Blue Hawaii' period."

"Come on Daria, it could be fun." Trent wheedled.

"You want to get married?" Daria looked at him as she chewed a marinated mushroom.

"Sure. Don't you?"

Helen leaned closer, hoping that he could convince her. "We can get you a gown and shoes, the kids can be in the wedding…" She started.

Daria gave Helen a sour look, "Yes, I'll marry you. But not here and not now. Mom, you have to find another victim."

Quinn pinched her mother under the table as Helen started to turn to Mike. "So Mom, I guess you're kind of stymied there. Sorry."

Helen pouted slightly, and shrugged. "Well damn it, someone is getting married and the sooner the better." She sipped the last of her wine and indicated to Jake that he should refill her glass.

***

Daria unpacked in the massive hotel room. Hanging up clothing in the walk in closet and displaying the few toiletries she brought with her on the marble vanity, she called out to Trent, who was splayed out on the sofa in the living area. "Were you serious?"

"Huh?" He paused on the Vegas channel, watching a montage of showgirls, roulette wheels and buffets.

"About getting married?" She smoothed a pair of jeans and clipped them to a hanger.

"Sure. Weren't you?" He stretched and listened for the various cracks and snaps in his joints.

"I guess, I suppose I expected something a bit more formal than my Mom nudging us with a free Vegas wedding though." She sat down on the other part of the sectional and reached for the remote.

Trent surrendered it to her. He got down on one knee, grunting with the effort. "Daria, will you marry me?"

She rolled her eyes. "Is that it?"

"S' all I got right now. How much more do you want?" He stared up at her from under the fringe of curly hair on his brow.

"Actually, that's as much as I want. I guess I'll never be like normal people." She sighed and indicated that he should get up.

"Good. Normal is boring. How about The Daily Show?" He said as she paused on the channel.

"Fine by me."

***

The young adults met for a late breakfast in the coffee shop of the hotel to discuss their day.

Quinn consulted her iPhone, "I can't find anything to do around here that isn't kitch."

Jane spread a slice of toast with jam, "Good. I'm all about kitch. Liberace museum, Atomic Energy museum, a tour of Caesar's Palace; all of it sounds good to me.

"I want to play some table games," gambling is fun. Quinn peered at the screen of her phone, "Oh! Some place called Slots of Fun has quarter tables!"

Daria quirked an eyebrow, "Slots of Fun? High class stuff."

"I hear there's a place where you can get fried Twinkies," Jane suggested.

Mike leaned in, "How about we start with Liberace, then hit the casino?"

The day was spent driving to various venues to soak up the Vegas charm, and grease from the Twinkies. Slots of Fun turned out to be a small, dodgy casino next door to Circus, Circus. A sign indicated that this was the place to get the .99 cent Shrimp Cocktail.

"I don't care if Vegas has the freshest fish in the world, based on the volume of turnover, I'm not buying shrimp from Bozo." She emphatically declined Jane's offer to treat her.

"You don't know what you're missing." Jane tipped the small cup back and swallowed the contents. "Mmmm," she chewed happily.

"I think I do. I have Tums if you need them later."

They returned to their hotel and Daria, Jane and Quinn stationed themselves at a penny slot machine fashioned after a goldfish bowl.

"Come on fishy! Mama needs a new air-brush nozzle." Jane stroked her machine and chanted. "Alright! Bonus!" A fish swam into the bowl on the top of the machine and bubbles popped around him, each with an amount.

After a few hours they weren't any worse off than when they started, "Guys, I think we should get ready for dinner," Daria said, as she gathered her winnings ticket. "I'll bet chips were more fun."

Trent napped on the sofa with Oprah on in the background. Daria thought about changing the channel, but feared waking him so she decided to read for a bit before dressing.

At eight they all met at the Morgendorffer's. The kids played with Joyce as Helen put the finishing touches on a lasagna.

"Quinn, can you dress the salad? Daria, please put ice in glasses." The girls did as told.

"Are you kidding? Lasagna?" Daria sighed as she pushed water glasses against the lever in the fridge.

Jake laughed, "No, this one's homemade. Lasagna Bolognaise! I got the recipe from Emeril!"

"No kidding," Daria placed glasses at place-settings, skeptical. The kids had made place-cards with bits of tinsel and small glass ornaments. Daria picked one up, "Hey, these are nice."

Courtney held up ribbon as Joyce grabbed at it, "Thanks!"

After doing her part in setting the table, Daria looked out the windows and onto the desert landscape. "You know, not that I'm sad to leave the snow, but it just doesn't seem like Christmas without it."

Helen set the hot lasagna pan on a trivet and walked over. "Christmas is anywhere my family is."

"GACK!" Daria recoiled from the attempt at a tender moment, "You're joking right?"

"Only a little bit, I'm so glad you all could make it out for the holiday." She turned suddenly. "To the table everyone!"

After dinner, and the opening of the requisite ONE present, the kids and the cat were mellowing out after a day of excitement. The adults sat around the living room in a holiday stupor.

"You know, in Las Vegas you can get a license any day of the year. Even Christmas." Helen offered.

"Give it a rest!" Both Quinn and Daria howled. "Jinx!" Then laughed.

"Mo-oo-m! Really. When any of us wants to get married on the spur of the moment in Vegas, we'll let you know!" Quinn flailed her arms for emphasis. "What is with this wedding fever all of a sudden. Weren't you the one who told us to wait?"

"Yes, wait, until you're ready. But aren't you ready yet?"

Daria rolled her eyes. "We'll let you know. But I don't think I want a Vegas wedding."

"Why not? It's so easy to organize and it's really nice." Helen brought a binder down from the bookshelf. "Look, isn't this nice?" She flipped it open to glossy pictures of what appeared to be a chapel in the French country-side. Rough-hewn pews, delicate lace curtains over trompe l'oeil curtains and a non-denominational officient ready to perform any ceremony.

Jane peered over Daria's shoulder, "Check it out, she'll marry anything to anything!"

Daria giggled, "Next best thing to being in France, you know, the France at Epcot."

Everyone started laughing and instead of joining in, Helen became angry, "Don't laugh, it's really very nice!" Helen

"Sure, for people with no imagination!" Daria crowed

"Or taste!" Quinn added.

Daria doubled over, "Oh! I know; for an extra fee can we burn Joan of Arc?"

Quinn squealed, "Daria! Stop! I'm going to wet myself!"

Helen looked hurt.

Trent smacked Daria on the arm, "Your mom is getting upset."

"Oh." No one should feel bad on Christmas. "I have an idea."

***

The Wedding March played in the background and the ceremony started. First Courtney and Adrian walked down the aisle. A bit old to be a flower girl and ring bearer, but they wanted to be part of the ceremony.

Next Jane, in a short lace dress in a flattering shade of gold walked down the aisle carrying a small bouquet of tea roses and escorted by Joe. Quinn followed behind with Mike.

Daria was next, marching solemnly with Trent on her arm. Finally, the fanfare started and the bride began her decent down the aisle. The groom eagerly waited for her to get to the altar.

Helen beamed her delight at the lovely wedding that she had planned.

The officient addressed the party, Friends we are gathered here to unite this couple in matrimony, Kevin, will you please take Melissa's hand and repeat after me?

After the ceremony and the requisite pictures, Melissa pulled Daria to the side, "You are a life-saver! Now I can wait for our church wedding, without having to wait for our wedding night!"

Daria blushed, "You're this close to an over-share. Let's just say it's an elegant solution to a delicate problem."


End file.
